


another excuse

by nami64



Category: Actor RPF, Real Person Fiction
Genre: (if anything happens one day...), Age Difference, Coming of Age, F/M, Feelings Realization, No Underage Sex, RPF, Slow Build, Underage Kissing, actualy there will be just ONE underage kiss -the rest will happen when she wll be of age dont worry, the age gap is 10
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-17
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:20:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 19
Words: 56,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26532742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nami64/pseuds/nami64
Summary: Maybe it was getting to cold to think properly, or maybe it was the alcohol he drank, but Max made a promise without any real intention of performing it. Problem: he is a man of his word, and Carlotta is the definition of obstinate -because you have to to succeed at being a teen actor(a fic taking place over several years)
Relationships: Max Schimmelpfennig & Carlotta von Falkenhayn
Comments: 87
Kudos: 68





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> lbh this work of fiction is more an originak story with two OC using Max & Carlotta as faceclaims, than an actual real RPF, since, except their names, i had to made up 99,99% it and i don't know them or even follow them on social medias. BUT WHATEVER, i confess it was very fun to write it!! :D  
> i totally understand RPF can make people uncomfortable, so feel free to leave and ignore me (but don't be mean or agressive in your comment please)
> 
> and i would like to thanks the lovely and very talented and always nice [@cerfblanc](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cerfblanc/pseuds/Cerfblanc), for the help she gave me with my terrible writing skill <3

_-_

_April 2021_

-

This is the sort of thing that happens with teen actors, Carlotta knows that.

The ‘adults’ band versus the rest of the world she is part of; a sort of distance, though not an unpleasant one. A normal one. Of course you don’t join wrap parties and drink beers and smoke weed like the rest of the cast. You go back to your house after your mom picks you up because you have school tomorrow. That’s part of the job, a job Carlotta is good at.

So, it is past 10:00 p.m. and the fourteen year old girl takes another sip of her orange juice while around the aroma of beer mixed with champagne. A large part of the _DARK_ cast decided to be there for the _Deutscher Filmpreis_ , even if the ceremony only honored movies. It was an occasion to celebrate the almost one year anniversary of the end of this fantastic adventure, to reunite with colleagues she liked, and to rejoice over the end of the lockdown that almost killed their industry.

Settled on a high bar table, she looks down at her phone. Her father will be here at eleven, and right now, only her agent keeps an eye on her from across the party, the rest of the crowd drinking beverages she can’t even pronounce. She feels off, but again, she is used to it.

“ _Hallo_.”

Her head turns in surprise and finds a familiar face.

“ _Guten Abend_ , Max.”

He smiles, ruffles her hair and rests his two elbows on the high table, a pint of beer between his hands. He is drunk, obviously, but it is an appropriate, ‘nicely drunk’ sort of drunk, where you just got all comfortable and mellow and smiley. Carlotta has never been drunk, it goes without saying (at fourteen!), but working with adults made her notice that alcohol had the ability to sometimes reveal a part of yourself that you didn’t know about, or would want to hide from the rest of the world. That part could be bitter, depressive, or violent, but Max seemed to have none of that.

“Why are you here, all alone?”

“Not alone,” she answers and raises up her glass proudly. “I have my orange juice with me.”

“Ah, vitamin C. The cornerstone of any decent civilisation,” he explains before taking another sip of ale, refuting his own declaration. “It’s late. Are you not…supposed to be sleeping at such advanced hours? Is there not school tomorrow?”

Max laughs and Carlotta hits his shoulder. Moderately. Because he is right.

“Yeah…I‘m leaving soon,” she says as she puts her phone back into her jeans’ pocket. “My father picks me up in ten minutes. I’ll wait for him outsi—“

“Excellent!” He places a cigarette between his lips and starts to look in his jacket for a lighter. “The exact amount of time I need to smoke one.”

Through the multitude of actors and artists (at some point, Carlotta waved from across the room, Max followed her gaze, and his eyes widened a little “Oh _scheiße_ …you know August Diehl?!”), they make their way out, the fresh autumn air a relief on both their faces. It was more dispersed than inside, but there was a good amount of other people on the terrace smoking, or taking a phone call, or chatting with a glass in hand.

They find an empty spot by the railing, so Carlotta can keep an eye on the road with the oncoming cars. Max leant against it to light his cigarette.

“I thought you were a fervent eco-warrior,” she says out of the blue, her arms tight around herself.

“Hm?” A noise of curiosity, as one of his hands run through his errant strands that grew back long.

“Your cigarette,” she points with her index finger. “Do you know how many appalling, horrific and polluting elements there are in just one cigarette? You put them in the ground for centuries, in the air, in the water…and in your lungs, if that matters to you.”

By the sudden misery on his face, she seems to have genuinely hurt Max.

He coughes and straightens up against the railing.

“Okay yes, fine, fine! _This_!” he says, showing the cigarette stuck between his fingers to the teenage girl. “This is the vice I have. The only one vice I have.” He theatrically puts his hand above his heart. “I swear!”

And after that performance that barely conviced the girl, he puts the roll back between his lips and takes a long drag of it. The plumes of smoke escape his mouth, and his face turns sideways towards Carlotta.

“Maybe I shouldn’t talk about vices in front of a fourteen year old girl.”

She shrugs.

“I’ve worked for this industry since I was nine…I’ve heard worse.”

“Maybe this industry is not made for children.”

She doesn’t answer—because she has no answer to give.

For the second time, Carlotta shivers, arms around herself. Damn her flimsy body temperature, unable to handle an April night.

“Do you want my jacket, Carl’?”

She eyes the jacket he was wearing, looking from it back up to his face. A simple jacket; dark blue, not sophisticated, but elegant enough for such an event.

“I didn’t know we had travelled back to the nineteenth century.”

"You don’t want my jacket?”

Realizing it will not be getting any warmer anytime soon, she finally relents. “Yeah, thank you.”

Promptly, the young man takes his jacket off, now only in a white shirt, and extends it to Carlotta. She places it on her shoulders, without pulling her arms into the sleeves, and once the item of clothing was around her, she almost instantly felt warmer.

The two of them slip into a comfortable silence, his cigarette half-smoked and her fists clenched tight around his jacket.

“So…high school for the new school year?” Max eventually and readily asks.

“Yeah.”

“Which one?”

“ _Goethe_ , in Berlin,” she answers informally, not seeing the point but carrying on. “With an adaptatble schedule to attempt courses and classes from _Waldorf School_.”

Something lights up in Max’s eyes, and he turns back to her with a big smile on his face.

“I went there as well! It’s in _Brunnenstraße_ , right?”

She nods.

“Oh yeah, yeah, it was fun,” his voice gets lost in memories he thought he had forgotten, and a stupid smile appears on his face.

“Sure. Maybe…but, I go there only to improve my craft.”

A promise to herself, a promise to become a better actress. But does a promise you make at fourteen years old last?

“Having fun is nice, Carl’,” he breathes between puffs.

“ _Nein,_ ” the teen girl shakes her head. “I don’t go there to have fun, like some people imagine. Actually, it—it scares me. All this…fun.”

He flicks his eyes in her direction, curious to hear an explanation.

“You have no idea the presssure from social media, from television. Even from friends nowadays!” Carlotta tries to explain, confusion in her voice and her head. “Sometimes, I just want to focus on acting and to get rid of the rest. Get rid of all the expectations people have for me.”

“Such as?”

“I’m fourteen, and already I’m supposed to—” her lips freeze, parted, but no sound comes out. “How—how old were you for your first kiss?”

Max eyes her, clearly thoughtful and ponders for an answer.

“…I was fifteen.”

“Well, I don’t want to be annoyed by that.”

“Oh you will, Carl’.”

He chuckles and takes another drag that silences him. It gives Carlotta the time to observe him, to observe her older colleague. The fact that he is wearing just a white shirt in the middle of an April night baffles her, but she imagines that drinking three pints of alcohol helped keep you warm. He is still, looking into nothingness, no tension in his shoulders or limbs and, whatever idea crosses his mind, he seems content with it. Pleased. It is one of the reasons working with him is so effortless and comfortable: he has an easy-going character.

The girl frowns. Maybe he could help her?

“Max?—”

Her voice brings him abruptly out of his reverie.

"—can you kiss me?”

A kick in his stomach would be less unforeseen. He chokes, his cigarette slipping from his fingers, and it seems that his eyes are about to pop out of his skull.

“What?!”

“Can you be my first kiss?”

He tries to read her face, tries to find the start of a smile or a playful grin, because it has to be a joke, right? But Carlotta looks dead serious, and he feels his blood turn to ice.

_“No!”_

“Don’t get me wrong,” she responds, the teenage girl moving from the barrier to face him. “I don’t really want you to kiss me. I‘m fourteen. I am not attracted to you at all!”

“That’s reassuring!”

He puts the cigarette that fell to the ground back into his mouth, hygiene being the last of his worries, and his eyes look around for any reason to avoid this conversation.

“Max, look, it’s just…” she pauses to articulate her logic. “I just want to get rid of this thing. The kiss! So my friends will stop asking me _‘when will you have a true boyfriend? Or a girlfriend? What about your first kiss? Because you know, I’ve already kissed two boys! So what about you? You have to have a first kiss!’_ ”

“Have to?” He repeats her words, voice edging with uneasiness.

“The pressure set on fourteen year old girls nowadays is insane. Particularly because of media, internet, sharing platforms... So, if you kiss me, I would be able to put all this behind me, and focus on my acting for good.”

“This is—” an even more stunned tone pops up in his voice, “ _This_ is the stupidest idea ever! With such logic, you—you…you should try coke already!”

Carlotta points her finger at him. “The difference is, I know I will never try coke in my life, while I’m pretty sure I would kiss on a daily basis later.”

“Yeah! Exactly, so why are you asking me?”

“Because it could never happen as well,” she insists shortly. “And I want it to happen now, before highschool. You know, to…to move on. To put this behind me and to ignore the pressure of hypothetical romantic relationships.”

“Ask a boy of your age!”

“Oh…please,” she rolls her eyes in an excellent imitation of an exasperated child.

Holding back his annoyance, Max grits his teeth, lips pressed tightly together. But the task is hard when a teen girl is genuinely asking for your help—in her own _twisted_ and _wrong_ way. The oversized jacket on her shoulders flaps in the wind like a cape, and it makes her look like a powerless superhero.

He sighs and puts his hands in his pockets, his cigarette set off to the side of his mouth.

“Carl’, romance shouldn’t be a pressure.”

“How am I supposed to know that?” Carlotta answers in defeat to emphasize how helpless she felt. “But, I assure you it is a pressure! In this connected world, where competition exists seven days a week and twenty-four hours a day. While, at the same, you want to be accepted by others. Yeah yeah, I know the speech about being unique and orginal and yourself and _blah-blah-blah_ …”

Her hand mimes talking, and Max can’t help but smile.

“…But the opinion of your peers is important. Particularly for teenagers! So—” she continues her rambling, “will you kiss me?”

“Hell no!”

“But, we’re friends.”

“Oh, _oh!”_ Max almost gasps and puts a hand over his heart, offended. “Oh, do not play that card of friends with me…sure I’m your friend, but I’m twenty-four. No, _twenty-five_ in four weeks! And, you know what? I‘m starting to think you are knowingly taking advantage of me since I‘m under the influence of alcohol.”

“Its because I’m fourteen, right?”

If the word _caustic_ one day needs a visual definition, it will be Max’s actual face.

“Well, the fact that it could send me to jail plays a part in the decision, indeed.”

Carlotta taps a finger against her chin, thinking: “What about in two years then? When I will be sixteen?”

“You won’t drop it, will you?”

“I mean, I would be of age! It would be legal.”

He gives a soft exhale that’s not quite a laugh, and a small cloud of smoke escapes his mouth.

“In two years, you will have so many boyfriends or girlfriends, you will not even remember the time when you were still un-kissed.”

“But what if…I’m still un-kissed? At sixteen?” Her eyes fell down to the dirty soil. “It would be pathetic.”

“No. It wouldn’t.”

“So, will you kiss me?”

“For fuck’s sake—”

The young man turns and rests his hands on the railing, his back to the teenage girl. The horizon is dark and there are no stars in the sky, only on the red carpet. Dull lamplight pans across the opposite street, the lights in every flat window he can see are turned off, and the great German film family seems to be the only living soul tonight—which is not a good omen. After a few seconds, Carlotta joins his side and leans two elbows on the barrier to look up at him.

“I mean in two years, Max!” she clarifies, counting the numbers on her fingers. “Look, if I still haven’t been kissed in the next two years, and if you—you are available for a kiss—I mean free, single, without a signifying other that could get jealous—then, will you kiss me? Deal?”

His cigarette is almost nothing but a short white stub now, its burning portion almost touching his skin.

“In two years you will have tons of suitors,” he releases another sigh before turning to face Carlotta. “And me, I…I would definitely have someone! Maybe even married? And maybe with a dog? Oh no, a cat!”

“Yeah, sure… so, you risk nothing to accept the deal then?” She timidly smiles. “Come on, Max! I ask it as a favour. From a friend to a friend?”

“Friends don’t make such deals.”

“Of course they do! Have you never watched the series?”

A snort, and he flicks his cigarette to the ground.

“I have,” his answer comes too soft, too subdued, as if he were about to surrender. “This is stupid…you will definitely be kissed during your first year of high school anyway. I know it.”

“So?”

Carlotta stands, back straight, wearing her best smile, and extends her hand out. Max stares hard at the offered hand before huffing out an irritated breath and taking it. He grumbles as they shake hands for long seconds.

“We have a deal!” she claps her own hands together, delighted. “No, but for real Max, that’s a damn weight off my shoulders. You have no idea!”

The excitement in her voice makes him immediately regret his moment of weakness to help a friend, and the tinge of pink in her cheeks due to the cold highlights her youth—and he just wants to be struck down on the spot. There is a buzz then (not the one he had hoped for) and Carlotta fishes her phone out to read the bluish screen.

“My father is here. I have to go.”

Max nods numbly at the information, without really processing or caring for it.

“This…whole dialogue between us was _absolutely not_ disturbing.”

Carlotta puts her phone back in her jeans’ pocket, and steps closer to her older friend and pats his forearm, smiling with just a hint of pity.

“Don’t worry. You aren’t the creepy type Max, if this is what troubles you,” her voice says, sincerity and concern within it. “And you‘re a great friend!”

Not knowing exactly how to end the strangest conversation he has ever had, the young man rubs the back of his neck.

“That’s reassuring…I guess.”

“And don’t forget: it could never happen!”

Childishly, he raises both his hands and crosses his fingers at her words. The teenage girl stares at him for a moment before tilting her head, and waves.

“ _Tschüss_ , Max.”

“ _Tschüss_.”

And as if nothing happened, she walks out the terrace to join her father waiting for her on the ground floor, and leaves her colleague alone. For a stunned moment Max doesn’t move, and tries to figure a way out of the deal. But they had shook hands, and he is a man of his word. It’s all settled…and now he is panicking. A shiver runs down his spine and he isn’t sure if it’s from the absurdness of their arrangement or the cold. He wraps his arms around himself and it suddenly hits him: he gave her his jacket. And she didn’t give it back to him.

He pinches the bridge of his nose with his two fingers.

“…the fuck?”

-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> voilà... i hope you enjoyed how i wrote them, and more parts are coming. i am planning once by week :)  
> as said previously, you have the right to dislike, but don't be mean in your comments please


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> once more, if you dislike RPF, feel free to leave and ignore me, no need to be mean or agressive.
> 
> and again, a BIG THANKS to the lovely [@cerfblanc](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cerfblanc/pseuds/Cerfblanc), for the help and the patience she has with my terrible writing ♥

_-_

_June 2023_

-

The production decided to do reshoots for the two final episodes, and needed him to stick around for a few more days—while the directors are currently fussing over whether or not one more scene needs to be reshot. So, Max is reading the last lines of the script in his dressing room.

For the fourth time.

In one afternoon.

The project is a co-production between Netflix and the German tv-station _ZDF_ , a mini-series loosely based on a 70s mystery novel, and for the first time, Max’s name is on top of the bill, carrying most of the venture on his shoulders. A new stress, yet a very exciting one. The rest of the actors were cast quickly, and he was glad to read familiar names on the definitive list: Tom Wlaschiha, Sven Martinek, and Carlotta von Falkenhayn—respectively, the chief of the police, his drunk uncle and his infuriating little sister.

_*knock-knock*_

“Come in,” Max says, not taking his eyes off the script even when he had already memorized every line of it.

“Such a star. Relaxing in his own dressing room.” There was sarcasm in this recognizable voice. “Wait…do I still have the right to talk to you?”

“Only during filming.”

He eventually glances up and finds a smiley Carlotta shutting the door as she comes in, a packsack on her back.

“You know, I think they wrote your name wrong on the panel,” she says, pointing at the door over her shoulder.

“No, no…they didn’t. It’s you who doesn’t know how to spell it properly.”

“Like, ninety-percent of the people.”

He laughs and smooths his hair off his forehead, before looking back at the script.

The dressing room is quite simple, almost bare. Carlotta suggested to him once that he should make it a little cosier and more comfortable, a little more himself. With some personal pictures of family and friends, or souvenirs here and there to create a familiar haven, after a stressful day. But as long as there is a window and a bathroom, Max doesn’t see the need of decoration.

Hanging on the wall is the leather jacket she saw him wear for a previous scene, and it makes her remember.

“Oh! I have something for you.”

Carlotta pauses to drop her bag. Out of the corner of his eye, Max watches with curiosity as the sixteen year old actress digs into it and pulls out a garment bag. She turns it over in her hands.

“Tada!”

A dark blue jacket. And he smiles.

Max throws the script copy on his table and climbs out of his seat to take the clothing from her fingers.

“ _Danke_.”

“And don’t worry: I cleaned it and carefully kept it away from any dust.”

The fact that she kept it intact during two years is a surprise, but they met so rarely during this period of time, returning it earlier would have been impossible. Working together now 24 hours a day, 7 days a week, helps.

The plastic bag squeaks a little as he hangs it in the wardrobe, and when Carlotta finally sees it in its place amongst the other outfits of its true owner, she feels her duty done.

“It’s just I thought that with the end of filming, I had to give it back to yo—”

“The end of filming?” he cuts her off, turning to look at the short-haired blonde actress beside him.

“Yes. For me. Today was my last day.”

A shadow of discontent passes over Max’s face, but it is so quick that Carlotta considers if she is simply imagining it.

“We should have done something. You know, to mark the occasion.”

“Oh yes, let’s imagine the party,” she says and walks over to his table to sit upon it, her legs dangling off the edge. “Fruit-juices, k-pop music and lights shutting off at ten o’clock before my mom comes to pick me up? _Terrific_!”

He laughs again and the girl is proud of making him do so.

Carlotta’s attention is drawn to the open script on his desk, and she spies an assortment of annotations and remarks in the margins, Max’s messy handwriting covering most of the page. Cross-outs. Highlights. Asterisks that lead to even more messy handwriting. Chaos, but by the talent and the force she witnessed during each of his scene, an immensely creative one.

“You‘re reading the script again,” she points, her fingers toying with the pages.

“Practice makes perfect Carl’. Didn’t they teach you that in your school?”

“No. They are more into…spontaneous acts of creation!”

“Oh great,” he replies as he moves to stand in front of her. “You will end up as a mime artist in the streets of Paris.”

This garners an eye-roll from Carlotta, and she playfully punches him in the shoulder—but it doesn’t even make him flinch.

“I will miss you.”

“When I will be a renowned mime in Paris?”

“When you will no longer be around on set.”

Feet swaying in the air, Carlotta leans back on her palms, to look up at his face, curious.

“It’s going to be different walking around and not seeing a familiar face. It is not that I don’t appreciate the company of the others, but you’re funny and…I’ve known you for five years now,” he explains, both hands deep in his jeans’ pockets. “You’re like, part of my mental background wallpaper. Sort of. Particularly while I’m working.”

A grin cracks on her lips.

“Thank you. I appreciate it.”

“I’m just being honest.”

His words were unexpected, but spoken so unhesitatingly that there must have been some truth in them. Carlotta smiles, and there is a sudden look on Max’s face she can’t decipher, as though he had now only grasped the weight of his words. _Maybe shame?_ She deducts, trying to figure out the reason of the change. _Or regret?_

He takes half a step back from where she sits and pulls out his phone to check the time.

“Tell me,” her voice doesn’t make his eyes move from the screen, “do you remember a disturbing conversation we had more or less two years ago?”

“Hm? No…I don’t.”

 _Liar_ , she thinks, because less than twenty seconds ago, he remembered the jacket and how it ended under her custody. Carlotta jumps off the table to stand before him, and her hand covers the blue screen of his Samsung to force him to look at her. Her fingers brush his before she pulls them away.

“The deal we made? About a certain kiss?”

Max’s throat moves as he swallows. “That conversation never happened.”

“Really? The ‘I was too drunk to be coherent’ excuse? Max, you are a brilliant actor, but I can easily read your face. You remember it.”

“Okay— _let’s suppose_ I remember it. So what?”

His response makes her feel vaguely triumphant. And confident enough. Without looking away from him, Carlotta backs off and crosses her arms over her chest.

“So, I’m here to claim my kiss.”

“Excuse me?”

This whole dialogue carries a feeling of _déjà-vu._

“You know, before I leave the set. And you wanted to mark the occasion, right?”

The silence hangs between them, making her think he isn’t going to answer, and only a slight twitch of one brow betrays that he feels anything. She catches her thumb stroking nervously along her phalanges and stops herself.

“We had a deal. And…if I understood everything correctly, you are single at the moment, right?”

Max closes his eyes, and the few seconds in which he had spoke since the last time felt like days for Carlotta.

“Wait…” he runs an unsteady hand over his face, and eventually opens his eyes again. “You want me to believe that no one has kissed you yet?”

The question is delivered in an attempt of the most monotonous voice.

Carlotta is sixteen and, to be fair, was presented with the opportunity more than once. But it never felt right, not when a guy from her class pressured her as a novice, not when the spinning bottle never paused in front of her, not when every romantic characters kissing in a play were taken by others…

“I did my best. Believe me!” She pouts, and he rolls his eyes. “Really, don’t look at me with such incredulous eyes.”

Incredulous is the word. Because in two years, Carlotta had changed. The child was gone. Sure, her cheeks were still full and round, but something about her face looked far more grown up now. Maybe her high cheekbones? Or her once long hair that was now shoulder-length? Or her fuller lips? She is taller, seems in good shape, and way more feminine. Prettier.

He frowns at himself. _Oh no, don’t open that door._

“Are you the kind of man that breaks promises?” she continues. “The kind of man that can’t be trusted?”

“I am not. But, this promise was not…supposed to be fulfilled.”

“And yet—“ a dramatic pause to exacerbate her words, and she extends her arms grotesquely, almost touching opposite walls of the small dressing room at once, “—here we are Max!”

“Now I see the mime,” the young man jokes and she smiles. “Look…you’re sixteen years old, Carl’.”

“I checked on Google. The age of consent in Germany is sixteen—even fourteen under some circumstances. And it’s just a kiss. We’re good!”

“ _We’re good?_ ” he repeats her words. “ _On Google?!_ ”

“Come on, Max. One kiss, and this story has its closure.”

He is silent again, and all he can do is stare at her. The idea of that happening, leaves him feeling unsettled. Perhaps it is the fact that they shared a couple of pivotal moments in each other’s (professional) lives before, and Max has a hard time imagining things going back to the way they once were, if that happens. Or perhaps it is only because she is sixteen? And this reason should be enough…

Lost in disconcerting thoughts, he almost doesn’t register her moving closer to him. The hesitation slips, but he doesn’t withdraw.

The atmosphere thickens in the room. Carlotta reaches up and places her hands on his shoulders, for balance, and stands on her tiptoes.

But the next move is his, and unexpected: he places his lips against hers, and yet… _no._ This is not a kiss. A peck. A chaste touch. His closed mouth against her closed mouth. Something quick, to not leave any mark, like when you rip a band-aid off so fast it leaves no trace of ever being there.

When Max detaches his lips from hers, he stares into her eyes, and for the life of him, he cannot interpret that look.

“Happy?”

“I had more heated sessions with my cousin,” she whispers, mid-disappointment and mid-amusement in her tone.

“Well, it explains a lot.”

Carlotta laughs and he feels her breath on his parted mouth.

“A real kiss Max. We had a deal…” she says, and he thinks she meant it to be a firm voice, but it comes out as a whisper.

She moves forward, her hazel eyes dipping down to Max’s lips, then back up to his eyes before closing her own. This time, she is the one catching him by surprise as she breaks the tension with her lips crushing against his, moving her hands to cup his face, as if she were afraid he would try to flee.

He doesn’t.

She opens her mouth, practically asking for him to do the same.

He does.

His lips part to yield to hers, and he tastes a flavour of strawberry lip gloss. The kiss tastes of hesitation and excitement and the metallic hint of danger, and her lack of experience is evident for them both when her tongue experimentally sweeps across his own.

Carlotta quickly forgets patience as she tilts her head to deepen the kiss, her nose now bumping against his, teeth hitting teeth. She tries her best to imitate Max’s expert moves and to heed his silent suggestions, curving her tongue along his own, following his rhythm. On her tiptoes, her arms wrap around his neck to press herself against him, and at this exact instant, Max would have preferred to be the kind of man that broke promises.

None of them would say that it is dreamlike or anything dramatic like that, but it feels…special. It feels like a heartbeat, and forever, all at once. It feels good. _And Hell_ —it shouldn’t.

A sudden gasp emits from her, and it makes him break the kiss.

When they pull away, to Max’s surprise, there is no buzzing siren, no police officers pointing a gun at his face, no sign of an oncoming apocalypse. They kissed, and he is still alive.

His eyes open slowly, and he watches her study him, probably wondering what he must be thinking or feeling. And in all honesty, he has no fucking clue—just like he has no clue how his hands had ended up on her hips. He withdraws them immediately, and moves them up to her still locked arms that are around his neck. His fingers find Carlotta’s wrists to unhook her iron grip, and the young man eventually steps back.

Although she initiated the kiss, the teenager seems suddenly out of words. She absently flicks her tongue over her lips before speaking. Max averts his eyes.

“It was…pleasant—”

He wants to nod.

He doesn’t.

“—thank you.”

He perks up at her words and there is a minuscule tightening in his jaw. What just happened isn’t something he wants to be thanked for, nor something she should feel in debt for. On the contrary, he should be the one to make amends.

And its like she knows what is crossing his mind:

“Now…should I call the police because a creepy old man used his extraordinary magnetism to take advantage of an innocent teen girl?”

The fact that she is able to make a joke of what just happened made a tense part of Max relax completely. He snorts a laugh. 

“You’re an idiot.”

“But now, a kissed idiot!”

With a quiet sigh, he moves to his desk and sits down in his seat, his mind wandering.

It changed nothing, he is certain. By her light attitude and the physical distance he clearly put afterward, their friendship appears preserved. Unaltered. Of course he catches her curious eyes that keep fixating on him with an inexperienced interest, and the warmth he felt through her blouse when his hands were on her hips still clung to his fingertips…but to his relief, it is still easy to be around her, and the remnant sensations will _of course_ , pass and fade.

“So…” a voice drags him back to reality and he looks up at the young actress stood by his seat. “We will see each other at the premiere, then?”

Max nods, but the smile plastered on his face lacked its usual warmth.

“I will keep that to myself,” Carlotta says, crossing her heart, amusement in her gaze. “You have my word!”

“I…think we should stop making promises between us.”

Reaching out a hand, Carlotta lightly touches his shoulder and grins, smiling eyes searching his, and her fingers seem to linger there a tad too long until they retreat. At the way Max keeps his eyes on her, it’s like he’s trying to figure out something that just doesn’t make sense to his brain. That just _couldn’t_ make sense.

“I will miss you too,” Carlotta says.

With her backpack over her left shoulder, she opens the door and waves at its threshold.

“See you soon, Max.”

He waves back and can only smile at her. “Bye, Carl’.”

The door shuts in silence behind her and during long seconds, Max seems to think over his options. A cigarette? A drink? A call to his best friend? A series of pumps? He eventually decides to focus back on the script.

Flicking through the pages to busy his mind, he grabs a pen and routinely starts chewing on the cap.

And there is a lasting taste of strawberry on his lips.

-


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> again, if RPF is not your cup of tea, feel free to leave and move on, no need to be mean or agressive.
> 
> and a BIG THANKS to [@cerfblanc](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cerfblanc/pseuds/Cerfblanc), for the kindness and patience with my terrible writing ♥

_-_

**September 2023**

-

It is late. Around 3:00a.m. Everything is dark and quiet and the afterparty of their new series’ premiere is dying down.

“I trust you,” Carlotta says in a breath, close to his face, and Max nods, his head heavier than the smoke around them. “Could you pick me up tomorrow?”

“Sure,” he answers without a second thought.

Tomorrow, the whole cast will have to promote the series, and _Netflix_ , in all its imperious American way of directing life, planned a very, very, _very_ long day of interviews, and the perspective to face the same questions over and over again sounded like the eternal torment Prometheus once endured.

“Good.”

“Mm.”

Smoke. Acrid, like the sensation of Carlotta’s jumper against his arm.

“I never do this, you know.”

 _Do what_ , Max doesn’t ask, too tired to keep up. Instead, he nods, his eyes lost in the crowd, and waves when he spots Tom across the room, leaving the party.

Carlotta winds an arm around Max’s, and they are both too tired to really notice it. They sit on a large crate as they had done so many times while filming. 

Things are rather all right.

“I asked my agent but it looks like I can’t trust her abilities for tomorrow morning,” Carlotta giggles, pointing at her loyal shadow drinking another Cuban Mojito. She rests her head on his shoulder and blinks her eyes many times.

“It seems that I need you.”

Max nods, once more. There is no place in his exhausted mind into which these words can really fit, particularly when he’s already drank three beers and one ti-punch. He starts to feel the flicker of a cramp and moves his arm.

“Max?”

He turns his head to look at his colleague, and finds her gazing intensely. A sigh, and he crushes his cigarette in the ashtray on the table beside them.

“If I have to pick you up tomorrow,” he explains calmly and starts to pull away. “I should go to sleep,” 

“Already?”

“It’s three in the morning. You’re the teenager, you should be the one going to sleep earlier,” his voice laughs, the slight Northern German accent more prominent in it from the alcohol and the exhaustion. “And look at this face, it’s a lot of work. I need my restorative sleep.”

“Yeah, yeah…” she breathes, “I‘m looking at that face.”

He feels numb. The beers, he concludes. He stands up, leaving her sitting alone on the crate they shared.

“Goodnight, Carl’.”

“Max…”

Her hand finds his wrist to stop him from departing; to force him to look back at her—and he does look back at her. Her eyes shine and her mouth opens slightly as if she wants to say something, but she only squeezes his hand once before her grip loosens.

“‘Night, Max.” Carlotta says. “See you tomorrow.”

“‘You tomorrow.”

-

**January 2024**

-

“It will be for four months. Most of the filming is in Spain,” he says, and on his next drag, he blows a perfect smoke ring in her direction. “And it’s for _Amazon Prime_.”

“So, you’re about to sell your soul to work for a global streaming platform that covers up international cartels of arms and prostitution?”

Max catches her eyes and she raises up her eyebrows in an overconfident way, in a ‘you know I‘m right’ way. A slight laugh comes out of his lips. “Remember when you used to respect me as an actor?”

Sitting beside him on a bench, Carlotta looks him straight in the eyes, gives him a sweet smile, and replies, “No.”

He clutches his hand to his chest and makes a dramatic ‘oof’ noise as if she had wounded him. But then he is fixing her with that blue stare again, and from the creases at the corners of his eyes, she can guess he is about to smile. And he does.

It’s New Year’s Eve, past midnight, and they are on the top of a restaurant privatised for the night. Even when they were from different circles of friends (or different decades), they came to the same party to celebrate the end of the year. After all, Berlin is more of a big village than a small megalopolis—particularly when the number of agents is limited by a numerous clausus; actors inevitably end up walking into one another, and it’s always good to show yourself a little for your career.

The rooftop is unremarkable; flat, grey concrete, and with a rusted air ventilation system. What makes it special is the dozens of VIPs, the music and lights, and the gallons of alcohol that was being drank upon it.

A chilly but clear night and, even if in the middle of the German capital, the Big Dipper, Venus and the Pole Star are visible, and Carlotta imperceptibly shivers.

Without a second thought, the young man opens one arm to wrap it around her shoulders, and she moves forward and gathers her friend in a quick hug. It is _easy_ to let Max envelop her with his affection and natural cheer, _easy_ because he always had this mysterious gift to get people comfortable and warm, to drag them in his welcoming aura like a giant sun. _So easy._

When they pull back, he takes another drag of his cigarette and she looks at his profile. 

“Do you think about it sometimes?”

His eyes slide back to her. “About what?”

“This is insulting.”

She points at her lips, and Max’s eyes lighten up.

“Oh, _that_ ,” he realizes. “Sometimes.”

The question is not returned, unsure if it would be more damaging for him to discover she occasionaly thought about it or not. He leans back against the bench.

“Have you practised since then?” His voice rings with genuine interest. “You know, to make it perfect?”

“Well yes! There is that guy in my class,” she explains, a smile on her lips as she picks a cocktail-size franks from a cutting board. “Yeah, yes. He is—“

“Your boyfriend?”

“Oh, I don’t know…” she shrugged, not really convinced that a few kisses and a couple of shared meals at Subway can hardly be a relationship. “He is cute.”

“Good for you.”

And he means it.

They sit in silence for a while longer, watching the people around them dancing and drinking and laughing, and the lack of sleep is gently starting to affect the young actress. Carlotta’s blonde head falls on his shoulder, eyes closed, and Max doesn’t flinch away, used to her proximity. Her fingers begin to run heedlessly over his knuckles, stopping sometimes to toy with the the ring he never takes off.

It’s surprising how easier it is getting to touch him.

_How harder it is getting to not._

“Hey?”

He hums to show he is listening.

“Could you bring me back a souvenir from Spain, please?”

There is the hint of a smile in his voice. 

“Sure Carl’.”

-

**May 2024**

-

_(This is the sort of thing that happens with actors working together. Close quarters, forced and immediate intimacy; a sort of emotional cabin fever. Of course you don’t really fall in love with your co-stars. It’s just, your life is suddenly revolving around them in brief, ecstatic bursts of intensity. Feelings can happen. But no love or true affection. Something ephemeral you let fuel you and then wait for it to go away)._

Carlotta looks upon the crowd to see familiar faces and her eyes stops.

He stands with his back to her to talk with three friends, laughing and drinking, and she stares at him for a moment before pressing her lips together to hide a smile. His bottle of beer now empty, Max decides to find his way to his kitchen and Carlotta takes the opportunity.

“Is this some kind of new trend they’re starting in Spain?” she asks. “ _No-Shoes-May_?”

Max turns around, blinks at her, then looks down, flexing bare toes on his corridor’s carpet. His laugh makes her chuckle, too, and with that, he goes to her, arms open, gathering her in a hug.

It feels almost ridiculously good, being in his arms, and Carlotta sighs as she hugs him back. It’s just friendly, their hands firmly on each other’s backs and her chin fitting over his shoulder, his lips near her ear as he ducks his head.

“You’ve grown again,” he says against her temple as he gives her one last squeeze, and they pull back, smiling.

“Well, a woman can keep on growing until she’s eighteen.”

“A _woman_? Where?” he jokes as he looks around, and she half-heartedly punches him in the shoulder to make him stop laughing.

Carlotta is the first to step back.

“You don’t deserve it, but here’s something for you,” she says, taking a small packet out of her pocket. “ _Alles Gute zum Geburtstag_ Max!”

He raises his eyebrows at her, and that gleam she likes appears in his eyes.

The packaging is easy to open up, and Max pulls the item within out. A silver cigarette lighter, tastefully decorated with a swirling line-pattern engraved in the metal. Simple but elegant. Made to endure decades.

“I know I shouldn’t encourage this vice of yours,” Carlotta jokes, hands behind her back, “but now, each time you light a cancer-stick, you will think of me. And I… don’t know if it is a good idea, actually.”

She jokes and Max’s smile grows wider as he looks back at her.

“ _Danken_ Carlotta. I love it.”

His voice is slightly rough, and just loud enough to be heard over the background music. Another hug, and she reciprocates.

“So, tell me,” the young actress begins, pulling away. “How was Spain?”

“Hot!” is his first reaction. They both laugh. “No no, but, really, it was great! The crew, the project. The food. The weather. The architecture. And the people!” Max gives her one of those trademark smiles, his enthusiasm infectious no matter the topic of discussion. “Yeah, it was really fun, really exciting. I bet it will be a success!”

“Don’t forget to thank me in your Academy Awards speech.”

“Oh, and what for?”

“Emotional support,” she explains, nodding thoughtfully. “I am here to be emotionally supportive. I could even ask my agent to attempt the premiere of your new series. Only to help of course. Look at how selfless I am.”

She giggles softly. A small blush seems to appear on Max’s cheeks, and Carlotta tilts her head.

“I don’t think so. I mean I—“ His gaze flickers down to the lighter in his hand. “I met someone,” he states, and his voice holds all the emotion of a fact about the weather. 

Pretending that this doesn’t upset her would be a lie. But it was expected. Max is talented, funny, sweet, smart, gorgeous, and at twenty-eight, it is time for him to settle like most of his friends that were already in a couple, married, or were even parents. A humourless snort escapes her throat and the young actress straightens slightly.

“Of course you met someone,” she replies, matching his soft tone.

The silence hangs between them, and for no valid reason, he feels the need to explain himself. “In Spain, while filming. Sofia. A Dutch actress.”

“Of your age?”

“Yeah, well…actually no. Younger than me. By two years.”

 _Two years._ Carlotta tries to smile, but it falters.

“She is clever and cool, and she is here tonight—“

A hint of panic lances through her.

“—let me introduce you to her, you will love—“

“ _No_. I mean—“ she cuts herself off for a few seconds and plasters a perfect smile on her lips. “Maybe another time. But I’m so sorry, I can’t stay. I just wanted to check if you came back safely from Spain, you know? And to give you your present. So, yeah, I can’t stay.”

The laugh that comes out of her is weak and, she thinks, not very convincing. Carlotta moves back, stepping out from Max’s personal space.

“Carl’, you can stay. I won’t snitch on if you drink, I swear.”

_You said no more promises, remember?_

His hand finds her wrist to stop her for departing, to make her look back at him… and it all feels too familiar. She turns back to look at him and she’s not seventeen anymore. She’s twelve and afraid and shy and meets his eyes for the first time.

“No, I can’t stay. It’s late and I’m…” A small, embarrassed smile tugs at the corners of her lips. “I’m just seventeen, you know?”

Max is good at masking reactions, at feigning emotions, after all it’s what he is paid for. So when he tries to hide the disappointment from his face but the annoyance is still obvious upon it, Carlotta experiences the tiniest feeling of triumph.

He loosens his grip, and she smiles once more, but not with her eyes.

A quick wave and, wordlessly, Carlotta leaves, disappearing down the corridor with impressive celerity.

She was right. _She must focus on acting and her career only._

_-_


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> again, all the thanks and hugs and praises to [@cerfblanc](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cerfblanc/pseuds/Cerfblanc), for the help she gave me <3

-

_september 2024_

-

_Fässler Bar_ is the new trendy place in Berlin East. A strange hybrid between a bookshop, an Irish pub and the classic Bavarian tavern, with comfy couches to read on, brightly coloured spotlights and an incomparable collection of beer. Their program of music is as much eclectic, giving opportunities to many unknown bands or improvised jam sessions.

And Carlotta is not supposed to be there tonight. But a friend (Aylin) dragged her to this bar because of one of the waitresses she’s dating and wants to kiss her now and can’t wait tomorrow and, most importantly, the said-waitress would let them drink for free. As long as the fountain of alcohol is open, the young blonde actress can handle romantic bullshit for the next three hours.

After a very quick chat, the lovebirds are trapped now in their own little world, kissing, holding hands, purring, and Carlotta is drinking her third gratuitous cocktail. One fist supporting her head, she pokes at the parasol in her glass and decides to turn her attention to the stage, where a group of musicians were playing fiery rock music.

The stage is dark, the main spotlight focusing only on the guitarist—as usual. Then, all the lights turn on, revealing every performer. And Carlotta nearly falls from her seat.

Max is on stage, playing the drums.

He explained to her once what it is for him— _‘it’s… it's -it’s a little getaway, a place where I can unleash another part of myself, you know? Where I can create something with my own two hands. And -and -it’s also about the beats that match my heart! And then, my ears are full of sounds of other instruments until I can no longer keep up. I just—I just love music!’_ —and she had wished to witness him performing one day.

That day is today; and Carlotta moves closer for a better view, abandoning her lip-glued friends.

Her mind feels dizzy from the alcohol but with every new glimpse of Max playing the instrument, she feels more awake. Because the sight is… _something_. 

His eyes are shut, lost in the rhythm as he bangs the drums. His knuckles are white from gripping the sticks, his long fingers tight around them, with veins streaked up his forearms. There is sweat on every visible inch of his skin, hair clinging to his temples, and his lower lip is trapped between his teeth. Steadily, the tempo increases for the finale and Max’s movements matches it, becoming faster and faster, until he throws back his head. That necklace he never takes off slips out from the front of his t-shirt. 

Mouth dry, Carlotta forgets to breathe.

Since his birthday, they met fleetingly. Perhaps that doesn’t help; there is more time to think in between points of contact, and no time to talk during them.

When the gig is over, she has half an idea of making a quick getaway, but before she can make up her mind completely, Max’s eyes find hers, and all hope of escaping vanishes, his grin and laughing eyes pushing her do the same.

With an unsteady gait, Carlotta makes her way through the crowd and they meet by the scene he just left, somewhat sheltered from the rest of the people. Max steps forward and gives her a surprisingly massive bear-hug, and the young woman is so stunned that it takes her a few seconds to hug him back.

_Too close_ , the sober part of her mind says.

_Not close enough_ , says every other part of her.

His faint scent of smoke and sweat wafted around them, and Max is the first to pull back.

“Sorry,” he smiles, alluding to his dirty state.

She shakes her head. “No no no no no no no, it's—“

_pleasant_

“—nothing.”

They’re still close, neither of them making a move, until Carlotta thinks she has to and pulls away. Max is the first to talk.

“It’s a surprise to see you here. It’s been so long…”

“Yeah, yeah. Friends of mine wanted to c— _oh_!” She squeals a little. “It was so, so nice to see you play. To see you drum! Very, _very_ , very impressive!”

“Thank you.”

“I mean it!” She nods enthusiastically, grabbing Max’s damp shirt for balance. “Very _very_ very _every_ very _eerie_ veryyyyyyy impressive.”

“Carlotta, are you drunk?”

“Hm, maybe? _Wee bit_. How many of you are there?” Her high voice replies and he laughs.

Drunk-Carlotta is utterly endearing. Perhaps Max should act like the mature adult he is and prevent her from drinking more. But it’s Saturday night; he isn’t her father, he did way worse when he was younger, her two friends are still keeping an eye on her by the counter, and as the French poet Arthur Rimbaud said: _no one’s serious at seventeen._

“You know, when you were in Spain, I thought a lot during the last weeks because, you know? I will start college next year, and I don’t know if I’ll be able to carry my current schedule. Courses. Casting. Acting. TV and movies. Sometimes friends. Family. The pressure of everything, _blah blah blah_ ,” she talks fast and intermittently, her fingers playing with his shirt’s seam. “So yeah, I thought about you when you were away. And then you came back but we didn’t really talk and everything changed and I wanted to talk to you if—“

“Carl’.”

“ _Jawohl’!_ ”

“You’re rambling,” Max smiles down softly at the blathering, charming mess that is the young actress, “and you’re still holding on to my shirt.”

Carlotta looks down at her hands first and then back up at him and grins widely. Her hands clench even tighter in the black fabric of his shirt, stretching it ever so slightly, and to her delight, he doesn’t flinch away.

“And you,” her voice slurs, smirk not leaving her face, “are very beautiful, Max.” And she swears she sees a slight pink cross his face.

Carlotta reaches up a hand to touch his cheek, her fingers ghosting along the strong sharp line of his jaw, feeling stubble and sweat beneath her tips. Before that distance can get any closer, Max clears his throat, fingers curling around her wrist to stop her touch.

“Max,” she whispers his name into the skin of his open neckline, as if she is telling it a secret. “I want to ask you something.”

All his mental signal alarms warn him this is dangerous territory, but he steps into it anyway.

“Okay?”

“Could—you be my first?”

“ _Déjà vu_ ,” he laughs, surprised by Carlotta’s drunkenness being strong enough to make her forget the very peculiar conversation they held two years ago—and the kiss they shared. “We already dealt with the kiss matter, remember?”

Shaking her head, the girl places both hands on his chest to steady herself. She feels his heartbeat beneath her palm.

“No no no no no, I mean my _first_ first,” she looks about self-consciously and murmurs after a pause: “My first time.”

Carlotta sees Max’s eyes widening slightly at the proposal. To her, all of this makes perfect sense even in her current hazy brain. In one year, she will go to college and just like her first kiss before, she wants to scratch off this social-construction that losing your virginity is from her ‘to-do’ list. It is logical. Rational. _Nothing else._ And Max is the perfect option: he was her first kiss, he is charming, kind, he knows her and has years of experience—so likely not a short-lived shag at the back of a car where she would feel nothing but frustration. And above all, she trusts him.

The tremor that goes through his hands when they cover her shoulders in a vain attempt to push her away, betrays something she cannot decode. His lips part.

“You’ve never—?”

She shakes her head in a silent no. Out of curiosity, some experimentations and attempts happened with heated sessions of making out, fondlings, light touches through the fabric of her sleep pants while her tongue danced with the one of the guys from her classes. Nice, but nothing more. _And she wants more._

Max’s Adam’s apple bobs beneath his skin.

“I -have someone.”

And he immediately grimaces at his own words, frightened that his immediate response was ‘ _I have someone_ ’, and no ‘ _you are too young_ ’ or ‘ _you’re drunk_ ’ or ‘ _this is insane_ ’—because the unspoken words his answer carries are ‘ _and if I had no one, I would accept’_.

“You’re drunk,” he corrects himself. “And you don’t know what you’re saying.”

She beams, and whispers: “I still didn’t hear a ‘no’.”

“Fine. No.”

“ _Hey!_ There you are!”

The bright voice makes Max step back, Carlotta’s fingers now still and empty in the air. From the shadows behind him, a petite but indisputably lovely woman emerges, blonde, with clear eyes of undefined colour in the subdued light, and a slight foreign accent in her words.

“And—oh, you are Carlotta!” she grabs the younger woman’s hand and shakes it excitedly. “Finally! You are the last of his friends I haven’t met yet.”

“Our Max…saving the best for last I guess!” Carlotta replies, with too much enjoyment. “And, you are Sonia?”

“Sofia.”

“Sorry—“

“No. It’s fine,” she assures and puts a hand on Carlotta’s arm, before moving to Max’s side: “The Uber I called should be here any minute babe. I will wait outside.”

“‘Kay. I’m coming.”

They share a smile and Carlotta’s eyes narrow imperceptibly at the sight.

“It was nice to meet you,” the Dutch girl says.

“Yeah, you too!”

Sofia waves, offers a dimpled smile, and vanishes in the crowd as quickly as she appeared from it.

Max and Carlotta observe her without saying anything, the companionable silence only broken by Carlotta’s humming some song under her breath, until she turns to face him and grins.

“ _Babe?_ ”

“You’ll understand romance one day.”

“Sofia seems nice.”

“She is.”

“She looks like me.”

That makes Max’s lips twitch slightly into a defensive mask, and he stares down at the young actress, her eyes peering up at him.

“She is blonde with clear eyes,” he states. “Quite common for women in the Netherlands.”

The justification sounds credible, so Carlotta agrees with a long nod. “Yes, sure,” and then she quips with a grin. “Still…she looks like me.”

Max snorts derisively as he looks over to spot wherever Sofia departed—in vain—and Carlotta shoulders his upper arm with a giggle. But she stumbles, and he is quick to grab her elbow in a loose grip in order to steady her. She finds her balance back easily, and wonders what it would feel like to be pulled into a strong embrace by those fingers, inside those arms.

She moves away. “That was fun. Okay…see you later!‘”

“Wait, you’re staying?”

“Yep! I will stay with my two friends,” Carlotta exclaims, as she points her thumb at the counter over her shoulder, “Drink a couple more beers. Then, I will probably try to find some nice bloke’s face to eat off for _hoooouurs_ —in hope that he will return me the favour, and eat me properly later.”

There’s a heavy pause between them. Every colour drains from Max’s face, his mouth taking the shape of a perfect 'o’, and he looks absolutely livid. His eyes stare at her in horror, and concern, and fear, and irritation, and—something else he can’t place.

Carlotta cracks up.

“ _Oh my God_. I’m kidding Max!” she bursts into laughter, her cheeks and ears red. “I have an audition tomorrow afternoon for a movie! An American movie by the way! I swear Mom, I’m leaving in ten minutes!”

The young woman starts to walk away, backwards, and waves: “Your ladylove is waiting. You should go, _babe_.”

A satisfied smile plastering her face, she turns around and heads toward the counter. All Max can see is her retreating back and a messy blonde ponytail disappearing in the crowd, and he wonders where it all went wrong.

-


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you dislike RPF, fine, thEN LEAVE ♥
> 
> ans as always, a BIG HUGS AND THANKS to the wonderful [@cerfblanc](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cerfblanc/pseuds/Cerfblanc), for the help she gave with my terrible writing

-

_**January 2025** _

-

She’s such a contradiction, Carlotta.

She’s not innocent—God knows she’s the first to make a dirty joke or give a big, bold laugh if someone else makes one—nor is she sheltered or naive. It’s just that during the last decade when Max and mostly everyone he knew were having a fun Friday night, she was working, studying all throughout her childhood. Committed. Ambitious.

But not to the point of pretentiousness, nor ferocity. Just confident enough to know her values and weaknesses.

The phone call was a surprise. Two days after New Year’s Eve. She said she wanted to meet him, for advice and tips for her next work in a big American movie. And since Max had already worked in such production, and has more experiences in the acting universe, she thought it was a good idea to talk with him. So, they met around 6:00 pm, at the Chalet n°35 of the traditional Christmas market of _Potsdamer Platz_ , which exceptionally lasted one more week in January. Max ordered two glasses of mulled wine—with cinnamon in Carlotta’s one.

It is a crisp, snowy winter evening, and they both dressed accordingly of the weather: Max with a long, thick brown coat that made him look like a Soviet Soldier ready to fight on the Western front, and Carlotta with a printed parka and a beanie on the top of her head, keeping all her long, blonde hair out of her face. Still, the cold air makes both their cheeks and noses go pink.

After thirty minutes of nice chit-chat, anecdotes, advice and laughter, her middle finger runs over the rim of her empty glass. The young woman tilts her head towards the waiter to order another one, partially flipping her hair despite the woolly hat—she has those kinds of eyes that can get her anything she wants in an instant.

“Where is your better half?”

Max doesn’t react at the cheekiness in her tone and prefers to put his hands around his hot cup of wine to warm them up. “In the Netherlands. With her family for the Holidays.”

She nods and takes a sip. “Awkward.”

Purposely, her remark comes out ambiguous, and Max can’t pick if it is about his actual relationship with Sofia or the current conversation that just started. He opts for the second.

“ _You_ made it awkward.”

“ _I_ made it awkward?!”

“Excuse me, but who asked me to sleep with her?”

“No, I didn’t a—“

She cuts herself off, and he actually hates the furtive glimpse of discomfort he catches on her face. He feels an urge to apologise.

“This was not the aim of my demand,” Carlotta continues, “Well, it was! But— _whatever_. Forget it.”

Needless to say, Max tried but failed epically at forgetting it -the ghost of her breath against the skin of his open neckline as she asked to spend a night with him—the memory shamefully keeps haunting some of his night-time hours.

“Sorry Carl’,” he says, and emphasizes his words with a light squeeze on her shoulder.

“It’s okay.” Her eyes just lift to stare into his, and he falls silent. She looks resolute, as always, nevertheless smiles gently at him. She carefully places her glass on the chalet’s counter before looking at the snowy streets.

Max stares at her profile, her blonde hair flowing down her back at the rhythm of the air, her sharp features underlined by the market’s lights, her clear eyes filled by their usual determination. She is beautiful.

_And seventeen._

Averting his eyes as he always does, he focusses on his cup, toying with the spoon in it like it holds all the answers.

“ _Oh!_ I almost forgot,” he has to stop himself from slapping his own forehead. “Again!”

Easily, he tucks the right sleeve of his coat up around his elbow and unfastens one of the many bracelets around his wrist. The chosen one is a combination of red and yellow pearls, garnished by half a dozen of tiny scalloped shells, with at its end a silver clasp to secure the jewel.

“The memento I promised you from Spain.”

When he holds it out to her, Carlotta blinks and doesn’t take it. Instead, she steps closer and rolls her jacket and jumper’s sleeves up to present her pale wrist.

“Could you help me with it please?” There’s a hint of delicate pink dusted on her face, and Max hums thoughtfully, before nodding.

The contact of her skin is warm, sending tiny bolts of heat against his own at the light connections his fingers make, and when he locks the charm against her wrist, he can feel her pulse beneath his digits. Little touches that slide under his skin and rattle his bones. Little touches, almost imperceptible, almost unreal— _that only make him want to touch more._

“I, uh, decided to wear it until I could give it to you because—you know? The moments we meet are rare. With you working in the US now, me all around Europe, and…”

“Max,” she murmurs, but it is enough to silence him. “It’s very beautiful, I love it. Thank you.”

He grins and she looks down at the bracelet once more.

The cool January night air is doing Carlotta good, making her brisk and aware of her demeanour and of the man in front of her, but her perpetual broken inner thermostat doesn’t subscribe to this notion of ‘good coldness’. She curls her arms around herself, fighting a shiver.

“I’m beginning to think you do this on purpose.”

His jest makes her raise an eyebrow, not getting it, and Max opens his long coat.

“Come here.”

When Carlotta ponders the invitation, he smiles once more.

“Now, Carl’, it’s too cold for me to give you my coat. Besides, I refuse to be responsible of a hypothermia that could make you miss job opportunities,” he explains, and his arguments sound reasonable. “You won’t be able to take your plane for LA if you’re feverish, you know?”

Carlotta lets out a feeble gasp when Max gently draws her to him. He tugs her under his coat, and wraps his arms around her form through the thick fabric. A warm, sweet, scent invades his senses ( _Gardenias_ , he thinks), and a bundle of blonde silky hair pops out from his collar, the only evidence of her presence to any curious eyes.

The young woman almost immediately clings to the front of his jumper, forehead against his sternum, hands on his chest, and she feels the power of the rippling muscle underneath it. A heartbeat passes. Two. Three. Eventually, she loses count, cocooned in his heat, hidden and safe from the cold, or any other storm.

Another shiver causes Carlotta to press firmer into him, instinctively seeking more warmth, and his embrace becomes a bit tighter around her.

A sigh. Cheek pressed just under his collarbone, she could fall asleep.

“I meant it you know?” she breathes into his chest, as though she were sharing secret. “…I still want it to be you.”

There is no need from her to specify the ‘it’. 

“I could be your dad.”

Carlotta’s laugh fills the icy air, echoing into his ears, vibrating into his torso; and the sound is so unanticipated—remarkable –exquisite. She turns her head and looks up at him through eyelashes.

“No way. You’re not _that_ old,” she says between soft giggles. “No. You couldn’t. We are ten years apart.”

“Eleven,” he corrects her.

“Ten years and nine months,” she corrects him back, cheekily. “So no, no you couldn’t.”

“Well, technically, I could.”

“Hm, you would have been very precocious then?”

“Maybe I was.”

The sound of his voice betrays flirtation, and he kind of wants to disappear. His embrace around Carlotta loosens imperceptibly.

“You…are seventeen.”

“In two months, I will be eighteen,” her answer is soft but resolute, “and you will have to find another excuse, Max.”

Carlotta straightens slightly as she refuses to break eye contact. It’s dark and her fingers slid from his chest to rest firmly around his waist, gripping tight, and he relishes in the tension emanating from her, apparent by the way her nails pull at his jumper.

“You should give me a kiss,” she purrs, “You know, for the New Year’s Celebration and everything. Out of tradition.”

A gentle smile graces Max’s lips.

_A kiss._

His hand raises up, hesitant. When the backs of his fingers brush her cheekbone Carlotta falls still, and he freezes, as if surprised to find himself brave enough to touch her—he thinks he sees a redder hint of colour on her cheeks as he drops his hand, but not his gaze.

His fingers meet hers and he lifts them to his lips, kissing her knuckles gently. One by one.

She moves near him, as close as she can get to feel his warmth. When her lips are barely a whisper away from his, Carlotta breathes: “I didn’t know we had travelled back to the nineteenth century.”

For a moment time seems to stand still. Her other hand settles down on his low back under his coat, and Max exhales. Her piercing gaze seems to scorch him, increasing the turbulent feeling in his stomach. He closes his eyes, in a vain way to escape her, for he knows he would dishonourably (and willingly) yield but—

“Carl’,” and his voice is so gentle it aches, “I have someone.”

When he finally looks down, Carlotta’s eyes are precarious with some emotion that he can’t recognize. _Scared_. Like she had pushed him too far. But _God_ , she had not.

Carlotta blinks and nods. “And, you’re a man of your word.”

There’s a forced bitterness in her voice. Part of the young woman wants to be disappointed in his retreat, but she isn’t, for there is something promising in it: by the way his eyes train on her, the way she invades his personal space without any resistance, the way his arms are still draped around her, the way he doesn’t let go.

The moment she steps out from the shield of his coat, every warmth disappears, and the reality comes back too quickly, too violently with its coldness and blinding lights and haunting Christmas melodies and it’s noisy people…she just wants to press herself back against him.

“I’m—joining my parents in a restaurant nearby to have dinner with them before my flight,” Carlotta begins, entering uncharted waters. “You could come if you want. As a friend! I mean…they’ve heard of you.”

“Heard good, I hope.”

“Of course in good! I keep all the inappropriate stuff for myself.”

She grins, and he does the same, both back to their conventional and easy— _and unadventurous_ —teasing.

After a few seconds, the absence of Carlotta’s heat against him manifests and Max tightens his coat around himself. He turns up his collar and shoves his hands into its thickly lined pockets. There, his fingers find a familiar lighter.

“No,” his head shakes, strands of dark blond hair getting caught in his lashes. “But thanks. Other plans tonight.”

There is no need to insist or ask for details.

“Okay.”

It’s getting darker and colder. Max’s eyes are full and the streets are busy with people, lights and songs. Even if the risk is nothing, he should propose to escort her to the restaurant, just in case. But before he can even talk, Carlotta steps closer to him. She leans in on her tiptoes, one hand on his chest for balance, and places a gentle kiss on his cheek, just by the cute mole near his nose.

Her lips linger on his skin a few seconds, longer than it’s supposed to, and when she lifts her eyelids just a crack to observe his face, she revels at the sight of his eyes being closed, and his lips slightly parted.

She finally pulls away, and Max’s eyes flutter open as he returns to his natural stature.

“Happy New Year, Max.” Carlotta utters sweetly.

The corners of his mouth twitch into a quick smile, and he answers as softly: “Happy New Year, Carlotta.”

The use of her full name by him is so rare, she cherishes each moment he uses it, making it sound so unique in his mouth. Content, the young woman waves, spins on her heel, and heads down the market’s aisle to join her family.

Max looks at her figure walking away, and his fingers clench firmly around the lighter in his pocket, finely crafted silver pressed tight into his palm.

_He is doomed._

_-_


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is rather short but i hope you will like it :D
> 
> and as usual BIG UP TO [@cerfblanc](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cerfblanc/pseuds/Cerfblanc) (you deserve the best dear!)

_-_

_**Mid-January 2025** _

-

The Californian breeze is warm, and everything is off.

But Carlotta had always felt out of place. Being a child actor threw her in a universe that normally should remain unknown for a kid: a work schedule, adults as partners, no regular friends of your age, obligation to follow orders…you grow up fast and quick. You have to.

So when ‘normal’ life comes back, when Carlotta returns to school, when she is finally surrounded by peers of her age, the feeling that a whole ocean separates them overwhelms her. Her mind is always busy with projects, auditions or events to attend, and she can’t grasp the futile worries of people of her age. _Hell!_ She is working on a film worth several million dollars! She feels out of sync with people that should be her friends. And yet, the young actress can’t imagine doing anything else. Acting runs through her veins.

It is her fourth day in Los Angeles. Her agent found a nice hotel by the studios and, her role in the movie being a secondary one, its proximity with the ocean allows her to go for it by bike. The weather is nice, she imagines. But for the rest…

This evening, the film crew invited her to the _Chateau Marmont,_ to visit the 'legendary’ place and talk around a nice meal to get to know each other better. But Carlotta declined the invitation, despite the insistence of her agent. The Weinstein affair, assaults against employees, trials that ended before they began thanks to money and prostitution…they all have a common point: the _Chateau Marmont._ She may be young, but she is far from naive. Carlotta is seventeen, and noticed the lubricity in some of the producers’ eyes when she introduced herself the first day. One of them hugged her a bit too long, too eagerly, and when his hands moved down her back to brush the top her ass, she quickly moved away, offered a forced smile and left the room.

 _Oh fuck it!_ She doesn’t mind if her career in the US never happens because of her integrity. 

Another bite of her Subway sandwich, and Carlotta realises that even with adults, she feels out of place. Actually, the people she is truly comfortable with can be counted on the fingers of one hand.

The sun is low on the western horizon, turning the sky a magnificent shade of orange, and the Pacific Ocean sways lazily, glittering golden. How can the people here live with this kind of weather in january?

She misses Germany’s greyness. 

She misses everything about Germany.

-

**_Late January 2025_ **

-

He’s become quite good at avoiding Sofia’s calls now. But in the end, he has to tell her. 

He convinces her (and himself) to meet in the _Großer Tiergarten_ park for a 'talk’. She quietly listens to him, and tells him she expected it, which is what Max was already telling himself. Somehow, it doesn’t help.

With their different plans from different countries, they couldn’t answer their respective needs. The explanation sounds good. In the end, they are not made for one another.

Her eyes are glassy and she blinks quickly, telling him it’s nothing, that they can still be friends. Max nods, but that label fits uneasily. He gives a gentle, awkward squeeze on her shoulder, despite knowing it won’t be enough. And she leaves.

For about a week, he feels like shit. He writes a poem. He throws it away. He writes a song. He goes out and films videos. He takes tons of pictures and keeps them in a shoebox. The week passes. Just like the culpability he felt when he realised he wasn’t particularly sad that their relationship had ended. 

He feels fine.

And he thinks of _her._

-

**_Late January 2025_ **

-

Aylin | 01:35 pm  
_[ hey ! are you here ? ]_

Carlotta | 11:47 am  
_[ sorry, i was working on my million dollar american superproduction_ 🙂🙂🙂 _]  
[ and sure i’m here ! what’s been up since yesterday ? ]_

Aylin | 07:47 pm  
_[ shut up ! i need to vent ]  
[ i think i’m about to be dumped ]_

Carlotta | 11:48 pm  
_[ oh shit ! the waitress ??? ]  
[ are u sure ??! i wish i was there with u ! ]_

Aylin | 07:48 am  
_[ not sure, but she seems to be ignoring me ]  
[ i went to the bar last night, she didn’t approach me ]_

Carlotta | 11:49 pm  
_[ u know my opinion about ur paranoia ]_

Aylin | 07:49 am  
_[ my what ??? ]_

Carlotta | 11:49 pm  
_[ did you talk to her ? ]  
[ i heard that communication works for healthy relationships ]_

Aylin | 07:55 am  
_[ no ]_

Carlotta | 11:55 pm  
_[ it took u 5 minutes to type that ??!! ]_

Aylin | 08:00 am  
_[ yes ]_

Carlotta | 12:00 pm  
_[ i hate u sfm ]_

Aylin | 08:00 am  
_[ oh and by the way ]  
[ do you know who actually *really* broke up and is single now ?? ]_

Carlotta | 12:00 pm  
_[ no. who ? ]_

Aylin | 08:01 am  
_[_ _your Max_ ❤️❤️❤️ _]_

-

_**First week of february, 2025** _

-

They danced around it for so many years but he only starts to grasps it now. The growing feelings, the half-sure knowledge that she reciprocates them, the always-lingering fear that she doesn’t. Heated conversations when Carlotta was only a teenager; fingers bumping into each other for no reason at all while working together; lingering looks when they casually spoke; hesitant but pleasant touches when they meet. Little things, nothing anyone can put a finger on if they don’t know to look for it.

But even after so many years, Max still thinks he has no right to take what Carlotta is all too willing to offer. 

He glares half-heartedly out the window of his flat as the rain is falling in heavy droplets, and he wonders what time it is in Los Angeles.

-

_**First week of February 2025** _

-

(Los Angeles)

Most of her days are perfectly organised. She sleeps, she calls her parents, she studies her script, she texts Aylin, she eats sometimes, she goes to the set…days after days after days. But a tiny grain of sand in the gears perturbed her arragements. 

Carlotta became quite the expert at feigning interest to whatever her momentary colleagues are talking about, her mind miles away in Europe. She can’t remember why she ever thought it would be a good idea to wait for him to text her first instead of calling him. And then, the annoying voice in the back of her head that sounds a little like her mum tells her to stop being such a pushy girl, to give people space. And she remembers why she decided to wait. 

The thing is, she can’t find it in herself to stop; the stubbornness is a part of who she is.

She gives up after a whole week of waiting. She turns her phone back on after the last scene of the day and tosses words around until they stick on screen. Their semi-incoherency worries her as she re-read them, and she deletes them as quickly as she wrote them.

Carlotta closes her eyes. A deep breath. She reopens them.

She types something short, then presses 'send’, and waits and waits and waits.

And waits. 

Germany was never as far away as California was right now.

-

(Berlin)

A light ding. He sets his book face down on his chest to keep a tab on the page he was reading, and he picks up the phone. Max’s eyes widens slightly and he freezes for a moment in contemplation, her name and her all-smiling picture on his screen taking him by surprise.

He opens the message.

Carlotta | 02:47 am  
_[ hey ? ]_

He smiles, and types quickly.

Max | 11:48 pm  
_[ hey back ]_

When Carlotta doesn’t reply for the next three minutes while she was the one initiating the conversation, he thinks that maybe she eventually came to her senses, that she was now listed in an American agency that was going to promote her, that she met some hot Californian guy of her age, that she will move for good to the US—and his stomach twists at this idea.

He is about to (pathetically) send another text when suddenly a new bubble chat pops up.

Carlotta | 02:50 am  
_[ are you awake ? ]  
[ _😉😜 _]_

Another smile. He can’t wait for her to come back.

Max | 11:50 pm  
_[ no ]_

Carlotta is typing back.

_... ... ...  
_

_-_


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> long chapter, so in 2 parts!!
> 
> and as always THANKS to the great [@cerfblanc](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cerfblanc/pseuds/Cerfblanc) <3

* * *

**25 February 2025**

-

*buzz*

Carlotta | 01:47am  
_[ are u at ur place? ? ]_

Max | 01:48am  
_[ yes ]_

Carlotta | 01:48am  
_[ are u alone? ]_

Max | 01:49am  
_[ yes ]  
[ why? ]_

*knock-knock*

Max tears his eyes from his phone at the double thud, until a new buzz draws his attention back on the screen.

Carlotta | 01:50am  
_[ because i’m at ur door ]_

“What the—“

He dog-ears the page he was reading and leaves his mattress with a groan. Despite the darkness, Max marches to the main door easily and opens it after a turn of keys. Standing there, bathed in the artificial light of the common floor landing, stood Carlotta von Falkenhayn. Her hair is lightly damp and wide, free from any artifice, hazel eyes peering through it, and she is wearing a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up to her elbows and simple blue jeans. She smiles broadly.

She is devastatingly beautiful.

“It’s my birthday!”

“Well…happy birthday then?” he replies, taking a step back.

“Thank you! It’s almost 2:00am and I was born at 1:28am. So I’m officially eighteen!”

Max tilts his head and with one hand, puts some semblance of order in his hair. “Congrats. I have a Champagne bottle in my fridge I keep for emergency if you want.”

“Nice,” she chirps. “But, that’s not why I’m here.”

Carlotta comes in without much invitation, and he stares at her invading his space as if she belongs there. Because of a couple of parties, the place is not unfamiliar to her, but she never went further than the living room or the hallway leading to the toilets. Standing now in the silence of the night, without music or other guests, the place turns into an intimidating refuge.

“So, how have you been since yesterday?” she asks.

Technically speaking, the meal they shared happened two days ago, now that they passed midnight and had entered Saturday timezone. But, Max decides to not be picky. He answers only to see where she’s going.

“I am fine. I put the California licence plate you gave me in the toilets by the way. For the decoration…”

“Hm, great.”

The absolute non-interest her voice carries makes him smile, a tone so different from the last conversation they had and where everything felt evident, natural. _Perfect._ But right now, her mind is somewhere else.

Carlotta eventually turns to look at Max, who is still by the open door.

“You remember? Our conversation? About what could happen when I reach eighteen?”

His fingers around the doorknob tense up, and he sighs, reeling. “Funny how this kind of conversation always happens when I have a glass of wine or a beer in hand.”

“Your alcoholism is not my problem.”

A joke, and she somehow manages not to laugh at his eye-rolling. With her hands on her hips, Carlotta walks around, and she only now notices the bike in the corridor and how none of his furniture is coordinated. _Very Max._

“I won’t leave,” her voice states with its usual determination. “And, if you shut that door with me inside your flat, it means that you are okay with the idea of, well… _you know?”_

He snorts. “You can’t even say it out loud, and you want to do it.”

“Fine. The idea of _having sex together.”_

Max’s eyes narrow imperceptibly at the words used. With great slowness, he moves from the door. Purposely, he leaves it wide open behind him, and the automatic light of the common landing now illuminate the living room.

“Oh, very mature,” Carlotta chides.

Enjoying her scolding tone, he inclines his head and smiles, playfully. Max could have stuck out his tongue to her, and it would have had the same effect. He reduces the distance between them and stops in front of her, arms crossed over his chest. They both stand still, aware of how close they are.

“If it really bothers you Max, I could…I don’t know, I could find a way to compensate for it,” she says with a shrug. “I could pay you if it can help.”

“This is _utterly_ insulting.”

“I am not asking this to make you uncomfortable, really. I thought about it a lot. For weeks. And to be honest, I want to do it before the end of high school.”

Shaking his head, he sighs once more, and she is close enough to hear him make a little ‘bleh’ sound under his breath.

“Is this what the media is referring to when they talk about the ethical gap between Millennials and Gen Z?” Max’s tone is calm and matter-of-fact, as if it’s just an established rule of the universe that morality will always be a difference between them.

Carlotta’s brow furrows. “You reason too much, Max.”

“And you, not enough. The memory of that night will stay with you all your life. You should do it with, with someone you care about, someone you trust.”

“I trust you. I care about you.”

“No, no, not that way,” he exhales. Her eyes are such a deep, intense hazel, and he is so close to her, Max can’t seem to stop himself from being disconcerted. “You—you should feel things.”

For some curious reasons, Carlotta perceives an attack.

“Pointless!” she says, defensively with a voice holding traces of wariness. “Feelings are so irrelevant. That’s why I am asking you. You are—“

“—the easy? the logical option?” 

“Yeah.”

He laughs, harsh and bitter, like she never heard him laugh before. “…yeah.”

“Don’t play the prudish card, Max. Let’s be honest: you were expecting me to knock at your place the second I turned eighteen,” she adds, and he glances quickly behind her at the still unclosed door before focusing back on her.

“What?! How so?”

“Sofia.”

“What about her?”

“You broke up with her one month before my birthday.”

“You—think I broke up with her so it would be okay to fuck you?”

Carlotta smiles, amusement on her face with something faintly mischievous. “You’re the one saying it.”

“Unbelievable…”

“So? Do you want me to leave?”

“You’re here for the wrong reasons Carl’.”

A victorious spark flickers in her eyes, quite pleased that he didn’t answer ‘yes’ right away, and Carlotta moves the tiniest bit closer him, resting a hand on his upper-arm.

“And what are the right reasons then?” she asks, placing her other hand on her heart to feign a sentimental swoon. “You want me to confess that my heart and soul belong only to you?”

He shuts his eyes tight.

Max promised himself he wouldn’t. Every time she touched him, every time he touched her, he told himself it wouldn’t go further. But trying to ignore the way that he feels around her is like trying to ignore someone screaming in his ear. _Impossible._

“It’s just—you shouldn’t do it out of logical motives or worries for your future. You should…” his eyes re-open to stare at the still open door above her head, at the open gate for her to escape, and his voice is a hush when heard again.

“You should go home, Carlotta. To think about what you want.”

_Carlotta._

The little hiccup in her heartbeat every time he says her full name manifests once more.

“Max, do not patronize me. I know you want it too. And what I want is—“

The common landing’s lights go off, surprising the young woman, and darkness buries the whole room, the unique source of light being now the pale gleam of the streetlight through his windows. It takes them a moment for their eyes to adjust to the dimness, and Carlotta notes how wide and black his pupils are.

“—I want you. Out of every boy or man I know, I want you to—“ she takes a deep breath through her nose, as if about to jump into deep water, “—to be the first to see me naked. Because I trust you. I want to go through this with you…”

Realizing she is in fact holding her breath, Carlotta releases it and its warmness brushes Max’s lips. 

“…unless, you don’t find me pretty enough.”

 _You are disarmingly beautiful,_ he thinks, _in the way only wild things can be._

“You’re very pretty,” is his answer, the rest of his words unsaid.

They say no more for a while. Carlotta ends the gap between them, their knees touching, their breaths mingling, their bodies close enough to feel the heat of each other, and she slips her fingers down from his bicep to his wrist, holding loosely. The contact is warm. “Can I confess something to you?”

“I think we’re well past that point.”

She chuckles quietly, lowering her head, and a strand of blonde hair falls into her face.

“I’ve had…a crush on you since I was thirteen.”

When she looks up, one of Max’s hands reaches up to tuck the errant lock of hair behind her ear. He cups her cheek in his palm just a second, and his touch is so welcoming, so tender, so brief, that it makes her ache.

“And you?” she continues as softly.

The question requires a few seconds of consideration, and Max answers. “Well…when I was thirteen, I had a crush on Kirsten Dunst.”

A smile graces Carlotta’s face and the silence hangs once more between them. She tilts her head and her tongue darts out just to lick her chapped lips. These lips, where rested the ghost of their imperfect, but haunting kiss.

“You won’t hurt me,” she whispers, a statement, not a question. “I want it to be you. I mean it.”

His knees go conspicuously weak, as well as his will.

Without waiting for another word, he takes one step back, freeing himself from her attraction, and he passes by her in silence, walking away. Their shoulders touch.

Carlotta blinks in confusion and feels the sudden urge to apologise, to rewind the film, to fix what could be fixed. Did she act too impetuously? But determination has always been a trait of her personality... Afraid to ruin what they have, she turns around fast to stop him.

“Max I’m—“

But the rest of her words get stuck in her throat as she sees him at the main door, shutting it. There is the sound of a ‘click’ when he leans his back against the board and Carlotta can’t help but notice the tightening within her stomach.

Max approaches her, slowly, as if he had all the time in the world. His eyelids lower slightly, and the look he shoots her beneath them is packed with meaning that she can’t really decipher. When he finally faces her, he offers a hand. Open. Bare. Harmless. And she takes it.

The next few seconds go by in a blur. One second they are in the living room, eyes locked; the next he is leading her down the small corridor, and Carlotta’s mind decides only to focus on the warmth of his fingers around hers and not on what is going to happen...

His bedroom is small, but neat, with its one window cracked-open on the far wall to let the cool air into the room. The walls are decorated with a few black and white photos of different kinds (movies, family, friends), a banner from a football team she doesn’t know, a small pile of dirty tee-shirts and bandanas on a seat, and one painting reproduction by the bedhead. _Egon Schiele_ she recognises.

Their hands separate and Carlotta steps into his den, taking in the details of it. She stops when her knees touch the edge of the bed and, prudently, sits down upon it.

She looks up at him as he walks closer and stops in front of her, towering over her. His eyes seem colourless in the strange half-light of the bedroom.

“Do you want some music?” he proposes, docily.

“No no…it’s fine.”

“Candles maybe?”

She grins at the suggestion with short but genuine glee. “No, thanks. Your _Die Sendung mit der Maus_ bedside-lamp is perfect for the ambiance, I guess.”

If unanimated objects could talk…he’s owned this lamp since he was ten, and he takes pride in it. A real vintage piece that he is certain could easily be sold on eBay now for maybe a hundred-and-twenty euro? Maybe a hundred-and-fifty?

Max’s attention is back on the young woman sitting on his mattress. He spots her apprehension, in the indecisive twitch of her lashes or the white of her knuckles as her hands grip onto the sheets. Without a word, he sits down next to her, their sides touching, and his arm bumps gently against hers to make her look at him.

“You know, I have had a few experiences before,” Carlotta says, embarrassed by the veil of prudishness she hears in her voice. “I am not totally ignorant on the matter. It’s just—I’ve never done the _whole thing_ you know?”

They are so close, shoulders touching, voices above a whisper.

“Look, we don’t have t—“

“But I want to,” she cuts him off, but retreats, cowering back the slightest.

His hand moves to cover hers resting on her lap. “It’s okay Carl’.”

Silence. The feeble sound of her breath betrays her nervousness and she decides to cover it up.

“So, hm, do I have to kiss you then?” Carlotta demands, before a sudden change of priorities makes her glance down at her front. “ _Oh,_ or maybe I should take my shirt off?”

She moves her fingers on the buttons to unfasten them, but Max’s warm and solid hand straightway stills hers. Their eyes meet.

“You know, like…in movies,” she explains weakly.

His head shakes. “You have to forget every movie you saw.”

“Even _Titanic?”_

“Particularly _Titanic.”_

She giggles and he smiles.

With prudence, Max leans forward, one hand coming up to cup her face. He sweeps his thumb over her flushed cheekbone, and his fingers trace her jawline before sliding down to her throat and collarbone. The top button of her shirt is open, and his palm rests on the skin where her neck and shoulder meet.

“So—“ he whispers, moving the slightest bit closer. “How do we do it then?”

A burning flower blooms in her chest.

“It’s my first time so I…don’t really know—“ she starts, sheepishly, even though she played that night in her head many _many_ many times. There is one think she knows though. “Can we go slowly?”

A nod, and that tiny moment of validation makes Carlotta keen to ask more.

While one of Max’s fingers runs along the pale curve of her neck, she takes his other hand to place it on her hip, letting him know that she wants that, that she wants _him_ to do that.

He leans over. For a second she thinks he is going to kiss her, but then his lips are on her throat and the hand resting on her hip lift up the rim of her shirt.

“Like that?” he murmurs against her skin.

An approving nod. “Hm.”

Carlotta closes her eyes to enhance all the sensations, and her arms start to shirk. She lets herself lay flat on her back. Goosebumps of anticipation are slowly taking over her body, and a shiver runs down her spine. 

His weight supported on his left arm, Max bends over her and moves his right hand to her rosy cheek.

“What do you want me to do?” he asks, his voice a dark, supple purr.

Carlotta bits her bottom lip.

_everything_

“To—make me feel good?”

He nods, just once. “I can do that.”

Her heart is racing fast. And there is suddenly another one, pulsing faintly, in the space between her legs.

-

_(to be continued...)_

_-_

-


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so here the other part of 'their night'... well well well, please tell me what you think about it ;)
> 
> and once more, thanks to the lovely and talented [@cerfblanc](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cerfblanc/pseuds/Cerfblanc) <3

_-_

_27 february 2025,  
_ _same night_

-

“What do you want me to do?” he asks, his voice a dark, supple purr.

Carlotta bites her bottom lip.

_everything._

“To—make me feel good?”

He nods, just once. “I can do that.”

Her heart is racing fast. And there is suddenly another one, pulsing faintly, in the space between her legs.

Max’s hand trails down her neck until they meet the neckline of her shirt, and start to unbutton it. Slowly. Just as she requested it. Carlotta closes her eyes as his fingers slip under the open shirt but they freeze, surprised to find no bra. 

The absence of underwear makes his brain short-circuit for an instant and the reset seems to put his common sense back in place.

_This is…_

At the exact same moment, his phone buzzes in his pocket, and the disturbance launches him definitely back to earth. Max feels as though he’d been whacked over his head.

One hand braced by her head, he asked her: “Do you believe in signs?”

Her eyes open and she blinks, confusion flicking across her features. 

“Signs?”

A sound that is a half-melancholic sigh and half-frustrated groan comes out of Max as he stares down at the beautiful young woman beneath him. “No, I—can’t do that.”

When he pulls his hands off her, a scowl crosses her face, as if she had started to piece everything together.

“You can’t…make me feel good?” 

The feeling of her warm breath playing on his lips doesn’t help. Clearing his throat, Max fully moves away from her with a feeling of cold shame beneath his skin. Standing, he looks down at her; shirt open and golden hair spread across his mattress.

Averting his eyes as he always does, he crosses his arms against his chest. “Yeah. No, it’s n—we can’t.”

“ _We can’t?_ ”

“No,” he repeats to convince her, but mostly himself. “We can’t.”

“But we want!” She spits, and before Max can answer she’s right in front of him, heart hammering out a staccato beat. Her lips are parted and she is breathing laboriously, likes she’s just run a five-minute mile. “I want it. And you want it too I know.”

“This isn’t right,” he says simply. He steps backward and leans his weight against the edge of his desk, like a professor about to scold a student—and Carlotta just loathes this expression.

“I’m eighteen, Max.” 

The evident exasperation in her voice is of course recognised, and Max sighs once more. “Legal doesn’t necessary means moral.”

 _What the_ —hazel eyes widen slightly at the kind-of condescending response, and her brow furrows into a frown. She is about to protest, but the young woman looks down at her front and realises it is still open. Her fingers shakily re-button what his just undid a few minutes ago and the memory of those earlier moments crash over her like a tidal wave. There was fire in her veins—and now there’s nothing but emptiness and the absence of his skin brushing hers. 

Carlotta feels suddenly stupid and vulnerable and so, _so_ cold. Without thinking, she rubs her arms and retreats slowly.

“What are you doing with me?” Her words are whispered.

This time he is the one to frown. 

“Carl’, I don—“

“You let me come into your flat, into your room, in the middle of the night. You let me lay on your bed. You touched me. Excited me.” She’s pacing now, and Max can’t help but notice her graceful limbs and muscles give little jerks as she speaks, as if to emphasise each separate indignation. “And then, you just… _stop_?!”

A hand runs over his face to sift fingers through his hair. “I have the right to change my mind, okay?”

“Are you playing with me?” 

_“What?”_

It felt like a blow to the gut. Max knows what playing meant in a relationship. He knew what it felt like and how it festered, and he can’t imagine playing with Carlotta. “Playing? Me? Who started that game four years ago asking me for a kiss?”

The words come out before he even realises he’s uttering them.

“A kiss you eventally gave me Max. Oh, and if I remember correctly, willingly,” she replies, hoping that she sounds more annoyed than wounded.

He swallows, intense blue iris fixed on her, ponders, and then murmurs:

“You planned that night. You sent me messages when you clearly were already at my doorstep. You weren’t wearing underwear on purpose. You just—it’s a game for you. A challenge.” He talks, and it’s almost a low and slow growl. “This is what I am to you. A line to cross out on your to-do list before you go to college. You said it yourself. No feelings. Just sex. And this is not—what I want.”

_what I want  
_

Carlotta stiffens for a couple of seconds at his words, shifting from foot to foot as she tries to remember if she, just once, asked him what he wanted. Did she? _Did I?_ But—he’s never pushed her away, never complained about her attutide or suggestions. She’s always been welcome into his personal space. The game should have been pleasing for him at some point, _right?_

“There has to be two for such a dance, Max.” 

“Yeah, maybe but…” A pause, and he calmly carries on. “We don’t have the same needs. I’m older than you. At my age, I should be with someone, maybe married with kids and a dog. Settle down a little. While you, at your age, you should be partying and kissing as many guys and girls as you can, and make experiences and mistakes and not be with—“

_someone like me._

The two of them have a…unique relationship to say the least. A uncommon dynamic, built on back and forth. Even though he knows that Carlotta is an adult woman today, he can’t help but see intermittent glimpses of the kid he met years ago, the kid he took under his wing for advice and laughs between takes. And whatever the development of their connection, he still wants her to have the best, to have something right.

And _this,_ is not right.

“I’m out now, just—tired of this game between us.” 

Silence. 

And Max tilts his head in expectation of any reaction. And the reaction comes.

“I was wrong,” she eventually breathes.

 _you can hurt me_ , but Carlotta keeps these words for herself. 

She knows she’s acting like a spoiled child trowing a tantrum when they can’t have what they want; she knows she’s being unfair to Max—unfair to loyal and sensitive and considerate Max—and that voice sounding like her mum inside her head cries out for her to stop, but she can’t stop. Moderation or concession are not part of her vocabulary. 

The young woman remains quiet for a while, and on a tight nod, she rushes out of his bedroom. 

“Wait, Carl…” 

Max follows her, trying to stop her in the corridor, and he eventually grabs her wrist in the living room, making her look back at him. “Carl, please. It’s not that I don’t care for you, on the contrary it’s just…we’re too different.” 

“No. We’re not!” She almost barks, her voice louder than it’s ever been when directed at him. “We‘re attracted to each other, do not tell me otherwise. You’re just too proud or too much of a coward to admit it.”

The grip around her hand is just strong enough to keep her from slipping away. He can’t let her go and leave—not in the middle of the night—not in this state.

“I’m doing this for you,” Max says, breathing through his nose. “Do you even fully grasp the motivations that made you come here?”

Carlotta goes from hurt to fury in a blink. And when she catches his always-tender gaze holding hers with something inside that borders on pity, she has had enough. She steps closer to him.

“Fuck you, Max.”

Her eyes aren’t bright with just anger. There are oncoming tears there, too. 

“Go find a girl your age you can fuck without being ashamed. Maybe an Italian actress this time,” she asserts quietly. 

Her voice is remarkably calm, low—a whistle, like the hiss of a snake between clenched teeth. “Have a dog or a cat or a ferret, I don’t fucking care—have dozens of babies. _Have a good life!_ ”

The tone used is harsh and Max’s face twists with misery. She is happy with that. 

Yanking her wrist away from his grip, Carlotta walks backwards to the front door, looking at him. When she opens it, the automic light of the floor landing turns on and Max notices how her furious eyes are brimming with unshed tears.

“By the way, Max,” she snorts bitterly. “I heard about your new role and movie. Congratulations!”

“Stay,“ he tries once more. “Carlotta we—“

“ _Don’t_ say my name that way!” 

_too gently. too fondly._

She turns and wordlessly leaves, her steps firm and final.

The door slams shut, the knob rattling in the frame, and Max is left staring at it, wondering how this night could end in such a disaster. 

There is another buzz coming from his pocket, but this time he can’t hear it, his heart pounding in his ears.

Bile rises in his throat. 

“Fuck,” he chokes out. “Fuck, _fuck_!”

-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the plot twist nobody wanted (even the author lol)


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **WARNING** reference of assault
> 
> and as always, thanks to [@cerfblanc](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cerfblanc/pseuds/Cerfblanc) for the help she gave me with my terrible writing

-

_late April 2025. Potsdam._

-

Max sits restlessly in the chair of his dressing room. Leg bouncing up and down. Hands fidgeting with pages of his script. Since the beginning of filming his new movie, he feels extremely angsty and irritated. He just needs a fucking cigarette; but instead he grabs a new carrot stick to chew on.

In the minuscule room, Max stands up from his seat and walks back and forth. One wrong word or move from someone within the film crew and he starts to attack them with an unusually quick-witted mouth. Even his agent warned him to take it easy so he won’t snap at the director or the producers. He tried the common things to quit smoking like nicotine gum and patches but they proved to be pointless, and his character’s degradation didn’t stop.

Normally whenever he feels this amount of stress he smokes. Now he feels flat-out agitated because he decided to quit smoking a month ago, which was probably the most stupid idea he has ever had.

 _no_.

The _second_ most stupid idea, he thinks, remembering that night where everything ended awfully.

Two months had passed, and he had heard nothing from Carlotta since then. He once sent a text but the bottle tossed into the sea remains unanswered. The silent message is clear: she won’t talk to him.

No phone call, nor accidental encounters, and the rare informations he can get come from common acquaintances or through their respective agents. And, according to rumors, she’s still attending her high school classes before leaving for Los Angeles in two weeks, for the premiere of her big American movie.

Max tries to put the situation in perspective. Two people like them, who have known each other for a large amount of time are bound to have some disagreements as their dynamic evolves. Emotions are part of being human, and humans react to their emotions. He knows that. He’s had previous paramours.

But Carlotta is not that. And if he’s honest, Max never questioned what they are/were, what they have, what they’re doing. Other people would do, but not them. It comes and changes naturally. Sometimes they’re brother and sister, sometimes they’re friends able to talk about anything, sometimes they’re flriting like stupid teens, sometimes Max would lean in close and whisper that she’s very pretty, his fingers holding hers against his chest…

Carlotta is something he had never factored into his life’s or career’s equation. A grain of sand in the machine.

And he misses her. With each new passing day, he misses her more.

He thinks that he should have kissed her that night, that he should have made her stay, that he should have told her what she means to him, that he-

Max sighs and rubs a hand over his stupid face. He _really_ needs a cigarette!

-

_mid-May 2025. Los Angeles._

-

The premiere is finally behind her. Her cheeks hurt from the effort of grinning and answering questions, and her feet ache as much for the heels she wore all night long—but thank God! Her agent brought a pair of sneakers for emergency, and as soon as they left the Chinese Theatre’s projection room, she gives up her Louboutins’ for comfortable Adidas.

And now, Carlotta is dancing.

The music at the afterparty is terrible but she’s heard worse, and she’s thinking of that rave in a Berlin cave she went to two weeks ago…or was it one week ago? Her schedule is completely messed up.

Carlotta is dancing and stunning in a little purple dress that brings out the blondness of her hair, and everything feels fantastic. Everybody that brushes against her on the dance floor lights her on fire in the best way, and she feels warm, ecstatic, too drunk to think properly. Exactly what she wanted. _Numb_.

There is her cute—but not very interesting—partner on screen with his hands around her waist from behind, pressing his hips against her ass, and Carlotta likes the feeling of being desired. She keeps dancing like that, closing her eyes, swaying and grinding and she is so high on heat and music and Piña Colada, when the guy behind kisses her neck, Carlotta doesn’t stop dancing.

The DJ blasts music she can feel from the ends of her hair to the tips of her toes, and she’s suddenly jumping, alone and away from any touch, lost in the beat.

-

_same night. Berlin._

-

“Max?”

“Mhm?” he answers, his eyes and fingers not leaving the guitar.

“You need a good shag.”

This time, Max looks up. “Excuse me?”

Behind the mixing table, Manuel laughs and puts his two elbows upon the desk, careful to not push any buttons. “A good shag. A good fuck,” his friend explains without reserve. “Oh yeah, sorry…you’re the sensitive type: _tender intercourse between two consenting beings._ ”

The actor rolls his eyes at the soppy voice and words, and decides to use humor to avoid this conversation which will lead him down a road he doesn’t want to take. “The invitation is flattering but you’re not really my typ—“

“ _Shut up!_ I mean you need a girl!” —and here comes the conversation he tried to avoid— “You know? To change your mind.”

That makes Max’s lips twitch and his eyes are back on the guitar. “How so?”

“You broke up with Sofia four months ago and it looks like she’s still in your mind, like as though you’re not over her yet.”

“I’m over her.”

A not-so-convinced eyebrow raises.

“Really?”

“Really.”

“Well…it doesn’t look like it.”

_because it’s not her that’s still in my mind._

After four hours of mixing new songs, Manuel collapses on the couch in his home studio, not caring if he wrinkles his new Hawaiian shirt. He sticks a cigarette between his lips and before he can light it…

“Hey!” An offended cross-legged Max shouts from the ground. “It’s my fourth week without taking a drag. So yeah, it’s getting easier but the dependency hasn’t vanished yet. So please…could you not?”

Removing the cigarette from his lips, Manuel puts one arm over his eyes, his own voice rough with exasperation. “You should really get laid, Max.”

“Please…” and he sets his fingers back on the strings. “Anyway, here’s _Wonderwall_.”

A pillow smashes into his face, and after a couple of names being exchanged, both men laugh. It’s almost 3am, and they spent their last hours drinking and making music, Manuel experimenting with sounds to find the new success of the Betterøv’s new LP, and Max playing guitar or drums or trying to write the melody that is still stuck in his brain.

After one month of filming, the production he is still working on stopped for a week. The rumor is that there may be legal problems with the tame horses and dogs used for the movie, and the director just didn’t know about it. Odd. That alone should be enough to make Max snap (the cigarettes or the Carlotta issue put aside).

So, this session of creation with a friend is more than welcome. A bowl of vital fresh air.

Manuel edges himself up into a sitting position on the couch and extends his hand.

“Give me your phone.”

The other man observes the open palm, and after a few seconds: “Why?”

“Just to install the Tinder app for you.”

“ _Fuck off._ ”

“Give it to me!” The musician asserts, and he grabs the Samsung from the table in impressive celerity. 

Max doesn’t resist or react. He just keeps playing guitar, observing his friend busying himself with the installation. There are no secrets in his phone and if Manuel plants whatever app in it, he would uninstall it the minute after. Really, he has nothing to hide.

A buzz.

“Done!”

Despite it all, the delight in his voice alarms Max.

“Just in case, you know?” Manuel explains as he gives back the phone to his friend. “If one day you want to change your mind and have fun.”

His eyes find the new icon on his screen and Max sighs. _A good fuck._ That for sure would help his stress...

With one hand, he turns off his phone. 

“Okay, now let’s play some music,” he answers, and softly, starts humming _Port Of Amsterdam_.

-

_same night. Los Angeles._

-

The dark haired actor standing by her side seems to notice she’s bored now, because his voice falters and he looks irritated.

“Don’t you like impressionist art?” he asks.

Carlotta almost laughs. She likes impressionist art just fine when she’s in a museum or at an exhibition. At the premiere of her biggest project, with loud music in her ears and too much alcohol in her system? Not so much.

“You’re funny!” She answers, patting lightly his cheek—and by his expression, this is clearly not the reaction he expected. “Okay, I need water now.”

She leaves the crowded dance floor without looking back, and enters the dimly light surrounding it. When the young woman spots an open bar in a retired corner with hardly anyone around, she breathes out a sigh of relief. Flustered and sweaty, a nice cool glass of water is all she needs.

Leaning against the empty bar, she takes a fresh mouthful from the glass she just filled herself, and observes the environment.

And that’s when Carlotta sees him.

Tall, broad, silver hair appearing a dull grey in the darkness of the party, he looks older (is that possible?) than what he is, and when his eyes find her, the creepy producer speeds up his pace a bit.

"Oh _scheiße_ ,” she whispers against the rim of her glass. “ _Scheiße, scheiße, scheiße…_ ”

Carlotta downs the rest of water in one go, places the empty container on the table and when she turns, a dark figure is standing right in front of her. Instinctively, she stumbles back one step.

“Having fun tonight?” He asks too curiously with a flick of an eyebrow. The natural disdain that radiates from him takes Carlotta aback a little, and she imagines that every old white-male producer in Hollywood shares that same ego. 

“Huh…yeah. Sure,” she answers in perfect English.

“The journalists, the audience, the coverage…this projection is a success.”

"Indeed,” her voice says, devoid of any interest. “Nice projection.“

The answer is short, for she has no desire to entertain him and just wants to leave. The last time they met, his hands ended on her low back to brush her ass on purpose, and Carlotta decided to scrupulously avoid him since then.

The producer remains silent as he steps towards her, and she is about to punch him when he leans over, but he grabs instead a glass of wine on the table in one hand.

"The movie will be a success too…the start of a great career for you.”

“I hope,” and her tone is just a little too squeaky to be believably casual.

Hands now behind his back, the old man begins to circle her, raking his eyes all over her body as if she was an article he coveted, and Carlotta wraps her arms around herself.

“You could do much more than hoping to have…more job opportunities, you know?” He continues. “How old are you?”

Carlotta eyes him, thoughtful. Naivety isn’t a trait she possesses—with a career of ten years in this industry at barely eighteen, the insinuation sounds clear at her ears. And she answers. “I’m eighteen.”

He leans in slightly, again, though not touching her, and his voice is tinged with amusement and avidity, the objective clearly no longer one of wine.

“This dress is very pretty on you.”

He’s got a swaggering arrogance in his shoulders, a hunger in his jaw and eyes, all of it focused on her, and he takes another step closer, forcing Carlotta to step back to put space between them—until she finds her back against a wall with nowhere to go. The music is too loud and the corner where they’re standing in is too dark and the people around them are too far and too drunk.

“I could give you what you want,” he says hoarsely, only for her, “If you’re nice with me.”

“I beg your pardon?” The controlled panic in Carlotta’s voice is Oscar-worthy.

He reaches out a hand and traces the line of her shoulder with one finger. Carlotta flinches at the contact, then straightens up, pretending like nothing happened.

A quick look on her cleavage and he smirks, all confident, as if he were used to behaving this way, as if he was expecting her to subdue. “The way you danced, rubbing yourself against the other actors. You were teasing me.”

“ _What?!_ ”

“Your hips, your ass…you’re playing nice.”

Her eyes open wide, astounded, and she feels her breathing pick up.

“Playing? Me?”

_what an asshole!_

“Hell no. I’m not,” a heavy frown crosses her features. “This is not—what I want!“

The old, wrinkled, disgusting old man inclines his head and gives a sharp-white-teeth-visible smile that sends chills up her spine. “But I want it. And you want it too, I know.”

Her ears ring. Loud. The words are familiar, faded memories in her head, whispers within the dark corners of her mind, pronounced and heard before…but in her own mouth. And Carlotta winces at the memory to when and to whom she told them—in a dark flat in Berlin and to a kind man.

_is this how it feels?_

When a hand touches her waist to go down to her hipbone, her dress creases. The young woman sees red the moment the asshole’s palm travels father down to caress her mid-thigh and grabs her flesh through the purple fabric.

Teeth clenched, she pushes him away, both hands hard against his chest—fortunately he looks too shocked to resist but she couldn’t care less about him. The flood of anger has cracked open now.

” _Take your hands off of me bastard!!_ ”

The burning, raging tears are starting to come to her eyes and Carlotta looks like an angry, flustered octopus as she wrestles her way out of the asshole’s space. Some insults in German are thrown around— _Arschloch! Wichser! Scheißhaufen!_ —and the young actress finally steps out from the dark place.

With her old Adidas sneakers on her feet and a Burberry dress worth at least three thousand dollars, she bursts out of the party without looking back. Right now, she just needs silence and fresh air and to make these tears of shame disappear with a warm shower—the rest of the crew are too high to notice her absence.

Glancing back over her shoulder to be certain no one was following her, Carlotta has no patience to wait for an Uber, and she looks into her purse: there is enough to pay one ride to her hotel. _God!,_ she hates Los Angeles.

“TAXI!” She yells, and pulls open the door of the first one to stop.

-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> feel free to tell me what you thought :)


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a short part because i'm a lazy gurl (but i swear, the next one will be longer!)  
> AS ALWAYS thanks to the lovely [@cerfblanc](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cerfblanc/pseuds/Cerfblanc) for her help <3

_-_

_Mid-May 2025.  
Same night. Los Angeles. _

-

Carlotta turns off the water, and she hears the sound of droplets hitting the floor as she wraps herself in a large bathrobe. Stepping out the bathroom, her hair already begins to dry funny, and she sits on her bed, a hairbrush in hand. 

As she methodically brushes her damp locks, her mind wanders again to the events of the last hours and she feels a lump grow in her throat.

Carlotta watches her phone. 1:43am. _9:43am in Germany._

Snuggling into the many pillows of the headboard, the young woman hugs one against her chest and she leans back into the others. It’s easier now, relaxed and alone. Things slip more freely when no one is looking, and there are phantom pangs in her chest, a mix of shame and anger, that wants to come out. More shame than anger, though.

Anger, because of this asshole who tried to touch her. And shame, because… 

_No_.

A frisson of panic lances through her as she remembers his words, and she shakes her head.

_I am not like him._

With a frustrated sigh, Carlotta turns on her side and pulls the covers up over her head. Her mind races and her breath quickens despite herself. She thinks back to the times she invaded Max’s personal space or flat without his approval, the times she literally asked him to kiss her or to sleep with her, the times she did what she wanted without thinking of the impact, and…wonders if it made him uncomfortable?…wonders _only now_ if it made him uncomfortable?

 _Was I that pushy?_ The thoughts don’t stop swirling around. _Was I that aggressive? Did I try too much to persuade him? Did I hurt him?_

She tries to rationalise it by telling herself that Max is an adult, a grown man, that if something unpleasant were to happen to him, he would say it and act accordingly. And of course, she would understand, and would give him the space he nee—

And then, like a punch to the gut, the events of that sad night come to Carlotta: the way she overreacted at his request to slow down, the 'fuck you Max!' she lashed out without regrets, how she pushed him away when everything he ever did was to care about her and her safety —and she feels like _shit_.

Tears threaten to spill as Carlotta realises how her boldness had bordered on arrogance and offence. 

Under the shelter of silk covers, she still hugs the pillow against her chest and whishes it could be her favourite cuddly toy, or her mom, or Max. Her head is dizzy from exhaustation and guilt. Her tears fall.

-

_Late May 2025.  
A week later. Los Angeles. _

-

She spent the whole week promoting the movie with the cast—and _only_ the cast. It was a good thing, to keep her mind busy and to let her focus on her work.

But it’s her last day in Los Angeles, and Carlotta spends most of her time either laying in bed staring at the ceiling, or sprawled out on the couch, once again staring at the ceiling. A day off supposedly to have fun. But it’s a miserable feeling, because all she can think about, is the look of utter sadness in Max’s eyes as she runs away from him, the look of complete defeat as she insulted him. 

And now, she is pressing the heels of her palms to her eyes, until she sees nothing but a kaleidoscope of colors. No matter how selfish her desires might have been, her intention was never _never_ to hurt him. Her words don't stop playing on a loop in her head.

_Are you playing with me?_

_I want it—and you want it too—I know._

“Fuck!” She shouts to herself as she clambers to her feet. She has to make things right. She has to apologise. Because, no, she is not that kind of asshole that pressures others! But, yes, she is a fucking spoilt-idiot-child!

Scrambling to the luggage she just made for her flight back, Carlotta finds her phone, dials Max, and realizes only when her screen lights up that it is his birthday and that he likely won’t answer.

It rings. And rings. And rings.

His voicemail.

-

_Late May 2025.  
Same day. Potsdam. _

-

It requires all of Max’s willpower not to pull a face at the surprise cake the whole crew bought for him for his brithday. This movie will remain one of his worst job experiences ever—for plenty of reasons—so, spending more time on set out of his obligation of filming makes him want to scream.

He politely drinks one glass of Champagne, perfectly feigns surprise when they give him an acoustic Fender, and diplomatically anounces that after such a day of hard working, he just wants to sleep. With a general ’ _Danke euch allen!_ ’, Max leaves and retires to his dressing room.

When the door closes, he takes a breath to enjoy the silence. Alone. The trouble with being a renowned actor that spends three quarters of the year on the set or around Europe is that friendships are hard to maintain and create. His true friends, the true people he wants to be with today, are too few and too far now…

Max falls on the couch with a sigh. Taking out his phone from his pocket, he turns it back on as always after a day of filming (he hates notifications every minute while working) and, his eyes widen.

 _📞_ ➜ Carlotta _  
Missed Call  
_**_[1]_** _New Voicemail_

The phone screen seems to stare at Max in an almost daring manner, and his hands hesitate to fidget with it. He calls his voicemail and holds his breath.

“ _Hallo Max, it’s me. It’s Carlotta…I don’t know if you remember me. Blonde. Talented. Annoying—“_

Her voice. He missed the sound of it, the loud, laughing guffaws, and the soft, murmured whispers. 

“ _—so yeah, you’re not here, probably working, having fun…whatever. I just wanted to call because I…I…fuck, I behaved like shit with you. I get it now. And I would totally understand if you don’t want to hear from me ever again. But I wanted to apologise to say that you did nothing wrong. Never. And everything that happened is on me, and I just…maybe it’s too much for you but, can we be friends again? Can we talk again? Can we laugh again together? Just like before. I…I’m so sorry and I know I was so stupid and so immature, and…and…shit, I’m rambling now! But you got the idea right? Okay, too long don’t read: I’m an idiot and please forgive me. I just want you to kno—what? No, no, I’m on phone right now, it’s important…! Okay, okay! I’ll join you in five!—Sorry. I have a plane to catch. Max I just…I miss you. A lot._ ”

And he misses her too. A lot.

“ _Oh and, Alles Gute zum Geburtstag old man!_ ”

The message ends and Max smiles, a small, hesitant little thing, but a smile nonetheless.

-

_Late May 2025.  
Same day + 1. Berlin. _

-

As soon as the wheels of the airplane touch the tarmac of the Berlin-Brandenburg Aeroport, Carlotta has her phone in hands and waits for the captain to announce that the passengers can use now their phone service again. As he does, she immediately turns off the airplane mode and is about to text her mother she landed safely when the phone vibrates. 

✉️ _➜ Max  
**[3]**_ _New Messages_

Her fingers linger delicately over the screen, not certain if she’s ready to learn about his reaction to her voicema—

_—oh my God, my voicemail!_

She tries to recall what she said…but the words are a blur now, pronounced in a rush between luggage and a flight, the result of a week of pure stress interspersed with self-introspection. Carlotta opens the texts.

 _23:45  
[ I was working and I’m SO sorry I missed your call _😭😭 _]_

A smile creeps across her face at the emojis.

_23:46  
[ you can count on me to talk or laugh about anything you want.  
if this is what you fear, I feel no resentment at all, no rancour towards you.  
and i was an ass myself and i’m sorry!!  
I don’t want you out of my life, if you’re okay to have an old man like me in yours—btw thanks for my b-day! ]_

After reading that chat segment twice, Carlotta lets out a sigh, as if his words had just shed a weight off her chest. She read the last bubble and notices the hour, proving that it took him time to type it:

_23:50  
[ and I miss you too ]_

If her agent was not holding her elbow to guide her in the airport, the young woman would stop right here and remain steady on her feet in the middle of the terminal, only to be sure her eyes weren’t playing tricks on her. Between one second and the next, Carlotta feels something in the depths of her chest tingling. Pleasant. Warm.

And she can’t help the laughter that bubbles from her throat.

-


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always, thanks to the great [@cerfblanc](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cerfblanc/pseuds/Cerfblanc) for the help!  
> -  
> so, long chapter in comparaison to the previous one, i hope you will enjoy.  
> it's an important one for their dynamic!

-

**early June 2025,  
Berlin  
**

-

*buzz _*  
  
_

Max | 04:38pm _  
[ are you at your place?? ]_

Carlotta | 04:39am _  
[ yep ]  
  
_

*knock-knock*

There’s a muffled sound coming from the front door. Carlotta leaves her place around the counter to walk towards it, and another buzz makes her stop and look at the blue screen of her phone.  
  
  
Max | 04:40pm  
_[ i’m at your door ]  
  
  
_She opens the foresaid door and her breath catches in her throat.

There stands Max, with his long hair pulled back by sunglasses on top of his head, wearing a plain white t-shirt tucked in his black jeans, a smile and light blonde stubble gracing his face. He is fucking _gorgeous_.

Carlotta takes a step forward, but straightaway stops herself. With everything that happened, she has no right to transgress boundaries, to touch or to reach him without his approval —she never got that right in the first place anyway.

And yet, with a move she didn’t anticipate, Max is the one to walk closer. In a split second, he wraps the young woman into a hug and pulls her in tight, his arms around her waist and shoulders to press her to his chest. A soft exhale of surprise escapes her, and she finds herself cuddling into his strong embrace, not even ashamed of the sigh of pure relief that makes it past her lips. Paradoxically, breathing is all of a sudden so easy.

Above her, Carlotta perceives the quick brushing of Max’s nose into her hair, and she loops her hands behind his back, enjoying his warmth even in the middle of a hot June day.

“I missed you—” he whispers against her temple and she feels the light movement of his lips on her skin.

_Please, do that again._

“—and, I had to greet the Hollywood star.”

Carlotta pulls away to look up at him.

“I really don’t think so. When the movie comes out over here, you’ll see…” she jokes—partly. “They cut two of my five scenes. It’s a shame, believe me. I’m sensational in all of them!”

“I am sure of that.”

“Yeah, yeah. And…I missed you too.”

They’ve still got their arms draped loosely around each other, neither of them making a move to step back, until Carlotta thinks she has to.

“You want to come in?” She gestures.

“I don’t want to impose myself.”

As if in concerned contemplation at his words, she tilts her head. How can he think that he is imposing himself while she is the one wanting to spend every possible minute in his company?

“My mom is at work. And the rest of the family is…somewhere, walking the dog? Or maybe doing the grocery? I don’t know. So, it’s fine,” Carlotta insists. “Please, come in. I was about to make myself a drink.”

He accepts and she shuts the door behind him. Once inside, Max follows the young woman and observes furtively around: a large living room with furniture of good quality yet simple, stairs to reach the first and only floor, a tiny backyard but enough for a dog, a veranda, a separate kitchen…the perfect example of a Berliner suburb little house.

As they enter the kitchen, he spots on the door frame marks of different dates and heights, and, hand-written in the wood, the name Carlotta. He smiles. It’s the little things that make something home.

“Tea? Coffee? A beer maybe?“

Max’s lips lift into a fraction of a smile. “Tea would be great, thanks.”

“Earl grey, with a dash of milk right?”

He nods and leans against the island’s edge to stare at the young woman searching for a kettle.

Outside, Max hears a group of lads making their way down the street, bellowing a Hertha BSC football club chant. The noise draws his gaze to the window where, just below, on the work plan, lays a pile of mail, with on top of it, resting two colleges’ flyers.

His eyes narrow when he reads in bold letters: Berlin, and Cologne (or in Max’s atlas: Berlin, and a-600km-far-city-from-Berlin).

“Did you make your choice?”

Carlotta peers up and follows his gaze to identify what he is alluding to.

“Oh. No. I’m accepted in both though,” she says with pride as she places two cups of tea on the marble. “Both universities have a really great artistic program with adaptive schedules, for acting and performance. Even dance!”

The young woman manages to re-enact a perfect curtsey—and to make Max smile.

“So not a favourite one yet?”

“Well…if I’m honest, maybe Berlin. But—” 

_no, please Carl. no ‘but’._

“—if I choose Berlin, I will likely have to stay at my parent’s, for the savings, and so not having my own independency you know? While, if I move to Cologne, I could have my own place. Maybe with roommates or classmates. It could be fun!”

Trying to summarize her thoughts—in vain—she shrugs. “Yeah, I haven’t decided yet.”

During the next few seconds, Max does his best to plaster the most neutral expression on his face, but the desire of independency is something he knows and experienced years before. Her needs are logical and understandable.

The sounds of Carlotta turning the tap to fill the kettle and gathering napkins out of the cupboard float into the small room. The kitchen falls into an easy silence, broken only by the gentle hum of the latest German hits music from the open radio, and Max is somehow captivated by the young woman’s unconscious beauty. Uncaring. At ease. Trusting. She is barefoot, wearing a pair of jean shorts that end above her knees and a floral print shirt. With the golden hours of the afternoon entering the kitchen behind her, the cloth and the curves of her waist are creating a mesmeric spectacle of light and shadow through the fabric.

He wants to come beside her and to move that rebel strand of hair away from her cheek. He wants her to turn toward him with the cocky little half grin he didn’t see for endless months…and, maybe then, just to check if it had changed in two years, steal a kiss?

“I want to apologise.”

Her voice brings him back to the present time. He blinks, and eventually processes her words.

“You already did.”

“I didn’t,” she answers, putting the filled kettle on the stove to make it boil. “I mean, face to face.”

Max smiles, always fond of her energetic spirit.

“Look, I’m sorry,” Carlotta admits, her eyes traveling down on the tray she is preparing. “I realised recently that I’ve been very, very stupid. And selfish. And too pushy with you. And, I acted like an angry child, only focusing on my needs. Or my schedule. Or my to-do list. Throwing a tantrum at you for no serious reason! There is nothing that can justify my behaviour. And—and—“

She is rambling on and on, and Max moves closer to stand by her side. He places a hand on her shoulder.

“I assure you, it’s okay Carl’.”

“ _No_.”

The severity in the young woman’s tone is sharp, yet the enmity not directed toward him and she looks up at Max with some rather intense eye contact. “No. This is not okay.”

The man falls silent, watching her open her mouth, close it, and open it again on a heavy sigh.

“Carlotta,” her name is above a whisper between his lips—he always treats the three syllables with care, “what happened?”

The prolonged glance continues for at least ten more seconds before she clears her throat.

“It’s just…a man tried more or less to assault me in Los Angeles—“

“What?” Max breathes, his expression caught between confusion and fear.

“'tried’ is the important word. Nothing happened. Really! He only touched my waist and my thigh…”

It takes him a bit to react to the confession. Max just aches with helplessness and anger, and all of the easy words that crowds into his mind—wishes of having been there for support and help, blithe reassurances that it will never happen again to anyone—just die on the way to his mouth.

“Did you call the police?”

A mocking snort.

“What for? It would have been his word against mine,” she shrugs, as if this didn’t really matter, as if she was talking about some restaurant that she didn’t like. “Between a young ambitious eighteen year old European actress and the respected, rich and famous Hollywood producer, who will be listened to? No, no, it would have been pointless.”

Waiting for the kettle to whistle, Carlotta fetches the box of tea by the sink, and places the rest of the pastries her dad bought this morning on the tray.

“I mean it was disgusting, but I assure you: I experienced way worse on a Friday night in a crowded subway!” She looks up at Max and smiles, and he is not certain to be reassured or more concerned. “I’m fine. And I pushed and insulted him, by the way.”

“Good?”

“Yeah, well _Auf Wiedersehen_ my American career,” she jests but fails to keep the bitterness out of her voice.

Running a hand through his hair, Max grimaces. Christ, if she had asked, he would have ran, swam, driven, and flown to Los Angeles to grab the fucking asshole that dared to touch her and punch him until he takes it all back, and undoes whatever wrong he caused.

“So, anyway, I was a dick to you. It was wrong,” Carlotta continues, as if there is nothing amiss. “I mean, as I wanted you, I assumed that you wanted me too, that you wanted this! And I didn’t care about you or your limits or your own wishes. I didn’t ask! I mean, it was almost predatory, right?”

Is she really expecting him to agree with such statement?

“I’m sorry Max,” she looks up and searches his blue eyes. “Do you forgive me?”

There isn’t a chance in Hell that Max would deny her anything. The battle was over before it had even begun.

“I do,” he nods. “And I was an idiot myself to react this way...”

“A pair of idiots then!” And, finally, that smile worth all the gold in the world appears on her face again.

When the kettle begins to whistle, she picks up a hot pad and pulls it off of the stove. With careful precision, she starts to fill the first cup, and Max’s eyes never leave her.

“You were right, you know?” he says, observing the young woman’s profile.

She grins. “Well, I’m always right! Hm, about what precisely?”

“I wanted you. I still want you.”

Carlotta starts at that, sloshing hot water on her fingers.

“ _Scheiße!_ ”

“Oh fuck, sorry!” Max barks, stepping closer to inspect the damage.

“No, no, don’t worry. It wasn’t boiling,” her answer comes with a smile, and she shakes her hand out a little. “I just have to put something cold on it.”

She moves to the sink and places her fingers under water. The harsh heat sweltering her hand slowly cools down and from the corner of her eyes, she sees Max observing her. He eventually takes the kettle and carries on the service.

“So, huh…” if they were not under water, Carlotta would be twisting her fingers together. “What—do you mean by you still want me?”

“What it means. No trick,” he whispers. “I want you.”

Carlotta can feel her face turn red, holding a stunned gleam that she hopes only she perceives. Shutting the tap, she reaches for the kitchen towel to dry her fingers and turns to face him, and he is watching her, eyes full of some emotion that she can’t recognise.

“It took me a whole year, and the length of Atlantic Ocean to realise—to face my feelings for you. I’m a slow learner.”

_Feelings._

By an unspoken, unanimous decision, they move closer at the same time, until their arms brush. With one last step, they once more invade each other’s space.

“I want you,” he murmurs. “But, maybe in a different way that you want me.”

“How so?” She asks, the sound of her voice carries notes of fear, and impatience, and years-old yearning. “How do you want me?”

“Well, you made it clear that you want to spend a night with me. And if I’m honest with you, and with myself, I want it too—”

If they were in a cartoon, Carlotta’s heart would be jumping out of her chest.

“—nevertheless, I don’t want it to be just for one night, or just a fun experience of a few hours. I don’t know, maybe I’m too old for that?”

He shakes his head and his mouth curls in a way that is distinctly feline. Alluring.

“I want everything. The whole package. However, I know you’re in your prime Carl’, that you’re younger than I am, and likely, want other things.”

They are close enough that either one of them can easily close the distance and they would be kissing, but neither of them move. Max hears Carlotta’s breath quicken, feels it on his lips—an in and out that speaks more of a marathon and less of simply standing still—and his hand moves up to brush away that rebel lock of golden hair from her face.

Her mouth parts, grasping for words, but it finds none.

Max is no longer just a logical choice or a short-lived option or a line to scratch out of a list—he is a whole new world she wants to explore and conquer and claim.

Sometimes, he would talk to her about a band she doesn’t know as they sit close on a couch, and she would let him, listening to the sounds more than the meaning of his words. At other times, she would reveal secrets and unspeakable bets she made with her friends, and when he would ask her to slow down to decipher her too modern young slang, she would just laugh. Oh, she wants him, of that she is certain. But…

“And you?” She asks, apprehensive and measured. “Are you sure you want everything? Are you ready for that? Like…ready to hold my hand in front of the rest of the world? Ready to brush the lock of hair from my cheeks outside the intimacy of private walls? Ready to–kiss me?”

A soft sigh escapes Max’s lips.

_Ready to—kiss her?_

In the end, neither of them answer the question the other asked and there is a moment where they do nothing but stare at each other.

A distant sound of keys breaks the spell, and the front door opens.

“ _I’m home!_ ”

Carlotta averts her eyes to the source of the noise and Max takes a step back. The retreat, even if predictable, makes the young woman laugh.

“Well, this answers my question,” she teases him, leaning against the island with a mocking look.

“It’s your family,” he explains, ignoring her smug little face. “Not the rest of the world.”

“ _You’re here, sweetie?_ ”

“In the kitchen Mama!” Carlotta shouts back without taking her amused eyes from the man in front of her.

"Hi sweetie,” her mother smiles when entering the kitchen, “I finished earlier tod—Oh! We have a visitor!”

The realisation makes the woman smile more and Max imagines she’s the kind of mother to enjoy a house-gathering of people in her home. As she walks closer, he notices how the matriarch shares no common physical traits with her daughter, except for the hazel irises and the vivid expressive face.

Carlotta steps in between. “Yeah we have. Mama, this is Max. Max, this is my mother.”

“A pleasure,” Max says and holds out a hand she shakes.

“Me too. And…finally! I can put a face to your name.”

“I could say the same, madame.”

A grimace and a flutter of hand to make him stop with the 'madame’ immediately. “Of course I’ve seen you on TV and screens and papers, or even from across a room! But never this close. Face to face I mean!”

He nods. “Nothing like real life.”

“Oh, tell that to the young one,” the woman huffs turning her eyes to her daughter.

“Ha ha,” Carlotta retorts humourlessly. “So, do you want tea, Mama?”

"You know my routine each time I come back to work." 

“Your forty-five minutes of yoga.“

"Exactly. Later then,” she concedes, making her way out of the kitchen, “and maybe I will be able to discuss more with our guest—“

"Bye Mama!” She cuts her off without reverence.

Running her hand down her face, Carlotta clears her throat. “Sorry.”

“No, it’s…” he paused, "everything is clear now.”

“What do you mean?”

He means that he gets where her tenacious energy comes from. “Nothing.”

Not expecting anymore explanations, she takes the tray in her hands and walks toward the table to put it there. Carlotta sets the two tea cups side by side, suggesting him to sit on the chair by hers. Which he does.

Now, shoulders pressed together, they don’t say anything for a while, comfortable in their silence. Carlotta savours the fresh warm tea with small sips and Max takes as well the time to drink in the sight of the young woman, appreciating the line of her shoulders and her delicate fingers around the cup’s handle as she raised it to her lips.

_Beautiful._

A bump in his shoulder almost makes him choke on his tea.

“Max?” Carlotta calls with a large smile. “You know what? My mother likes you. A lot.”

He lowers his cup, scrunching up his face in thought, and a grin starts to bloom on his face. “Well, I have that effect on mothers.”

“And, how many mothers have you seduced since?”

_Dangerous territory._

There’s a hint of red passing his cheeks. “Hm, not a lot. Actually.”

Swallowing another sip of earl grey, Carlotta smiles, enjoying the moment of pure nervousness in front of her.

“Okay, so where were we before my mother interrupted us?” she asks, fetching the bag of pastries to Max, all the while knowing that there is no way the conversation will be picked back up completely.

He studies her before his free hand makes its way towards hers on the kitchen table. Their fingers lace, his careful with the recently burned skin. “We were where we both don’t know what we really want.”

 _You. I want you_ , Carlotta wants to respond.

Instead, her jaw clenches and she nods, for he has a point. Their age difference is something she never pretended didn’t exist, well aware of how society could perceive them. How hypocritical, she often reflects, when the cinematographic industry she works for only valued women under their forties, when every week an old actor past-fifty starts to date a twenty-something year old new conquest! If she was twenty-six and he, thirty-six and nine months, no one would bat an eye…

But she is eighteen, which apparently is enough to keep labelling her as a non-adult, enough to see her as unable to have a serious relationship—however adult enough to receive scripts with sexual content and to film ambiguous scenes under the gaze of male directors. Well, fuck the rest of the society!

And yet…she knows she did act like a spoiled child before, while Max was the emotional mature one with a clear outlook on life. Ten years apart. Can they give the other what they need? Does it mean that there is no prospect? Or at least, not in the present days? What are they then? Colleagues? Acquaintances? Friends? Friends with benefits?

Carlotta can’t help but feel the warm flush that had crept up the back of her neck as Max was looking so intensely at her.

_no. not just friends. I’ve never felt that way for a friend._

A crease forms between her golden brows due to her contemplation, and he smiles at the sight. Max lifts her hand to his lips and presses a light kiss upon the back of it.

_yes. definitely not ‘just friends’!_

“What are you thinking of?”

For a moment, she observes him, only able to focus on his breath caressing the now slightly moistened spot he just kissed.

“Of you. And me. And other things,” the lightest shade of pink crosses her cheeks, “and…once more, I’m so sorry Max.”

“It’s fine Carl’,” he repeats with all the patience in the world, and he gives another kiss to her hand before putting it down on the table, still linked with his. “Okay, new matter then: are you going to the anniversary celebration?”

Carlotta takes a quick sip of her tea, eyes wide as she nods hastily.

“Yes I am! I occasionally run into some of our mutual ex-colleagues, but we can barely talk. I do text and chat with Gina regularly though,” she says, leaning an inch closer to him. “Yeah, it will be nice to see everybody at once! You?”

“Of course I’m coming. We couldn’t celebrate the end of the adventure in 2020, so a five years’ anniversary is a fantastic idea.”

“It will be fun to see how everybody’s aged. Besides you, I mean!” Carlotta winks and giggles.

“Spoiler alert—” he grins back, returning the teasing with a cocking eyebrow, “—you’re the one that’s aged the most beautifully.”

A smile spread across her face. And she can’t help but bathe in the little compliment, her cheeks glowing like the teenage girl she never really had the time to be.

“Enough,” she bumps into his shoulder. “So, how is your tea?”

After taking another sip of it, he smiles and looks at Carlotta.

“Quite lovely.”

-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hope you liked it!  
> and NO UPDATE NEXT WEEK because, i will be on vacation <3


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm back from my vaction so here an update :)  
> this chapter was quite fun to write tbh.  
> i had a new beta/editor for this part and i want to thank him A LOT ( _merci_ darling)!

-

**late june 2025,  
Berlin**

-

Getting out of the car, he faces an unanticipated crowd of glittering cameras, and people… After five years, they expected a minor coverage, but it seems that _DARK_ turned into this kind of a worshipped series with its own mythology, à-la _Twin Peaks_ or _LOST_ or _Firefly_. So when the whole cast and crew decided to celebrate the five years of the last season’s airing date, this enthusiasm was a real surprise –yet a very appreciated one.

The event is celebrated in a privatized Berlin club and Max is wearing a blue jacket over an old Chicago bulls’ t-shirt. Nice music, nice food, nice company and absolutely no pressure to promote any project. Perfect!

Discussing with Baran about new plans, arguing with Louis over the new winner of the Champions’ leagues, and smiling big and grateful and of course he is, but he’s also distracted because he can’t stop himself from looking over his shoulder. Just to check if—

_she’s there._

A flick of his eyes is all he allows. He hadn’t seen her for a whole week, since they met in a Turkish grocer’s shop and ended sharing a kebab, and so he snatches glimpses where he can.

_a cascade of untied blonde hair. gold against the night._

Carlotta is chatting with a woman he can’t identify in the darkness of the club. She looks self-assured and self-contained and so goddamn amiable and smiley, and beautiful… her over-sized shirt is plain black, tugged into a belt that circles her slim but definitely feminine hips, and the jeans she’s wearing hugs her bottom tight like a lover. Max bites the inside of his cheek.

Excusing himself to Louis and his fiancée, he is walking in her direction and eventually recognizes the woman she is talking to.

 _“Hallo_ Sandra.”

At her name, the older actress turns and smiles. _“Hallo_ Max! Happy to see you.”

Max leans forward and presses a kiss on her cheek she returns right away. Then his attention focuses on Carlotta to do the same. _“Hallo_ Carl’.”

His hand finds the indent of the actress’s lower back, where it meets her hip in a delicate curve, and she eyes him a fraction of a second before his fingers eventually retreat. _“Guten Abend_ Max.”

“Is that what you’re wearing?” Sandra inquires, amused, pointing at his Chicago t-shirt.

“This is what I always wear.”

“Exactly,“ Carlotta speaks, crossing her arms. "We’re celebrating something special. That merits at least a little bit of effort.”

“You don’t think I look good in it?”

Both women laugh and Max lets his gaze linger on the younger one. Her body is imperceptibly leaning closer to his until their shoulders touch and Carlotta snaps her eyes back up to his face, then to Sandra’s.

"I am— going to grab a drink. Do you want anything?” she asks, her thumb pointing towards the bar over her shoulder.

“Nothing for me. For now,” Sandra answers.

“I’m already tipsy.” Max adds, and Carlotta rolls her eyes.

She quickly makes her way to the bar and is greeted with a smile by a cute bartender behind the counter asking her ‘what can I get you?’. She orders one cup of Champagne.

“So-”

Carlotta's face lights up at the sudden voice and she twists on her seat to face him

“-how are you?”

“For now I am sober,” she answers lightly, levelling him with a rather unimpressed glare when he places his glass on the bar.

“And, may I add, you’re _very_ beautiful tonight.”

He picks a hair away that got snagged on her red mouth and the open, intrepid gesture makes her blink. She cocks her head, amused. 

“Hm, _only_ tonight?”

Max opens his mouth to respond, but is cut off by the arrival of Carlotta’s Champagne being placed before her with a flirty wink from the young bartender.

“Oh thanks! You’re the best,” the actress smiles, returning the wink and the young man leaves with a wide grin. Carlotta, either oblivious or accustomed to the effect she has on men, reaches for her glass with a hum.

“What just happened?” Max asks, the curiosity –jealousy?– evident in his intoxicated voice.

“Believe it or not, but it seems that other men, and women by the way, find me beautiful too.”

“I believe it.”

“Well, get in line then,” she laughs before bumping his shoulder with her own.

The jest is light and, he knows, carries no ounce of malice or strategy, but the words are severely true. She is _fucking_ stunning, clever, funny, talented, and you must be an idiot with zero common sense if you willingly decide to miss your shot with Carlotta von Falkenhayn. And Max is not an idiot.

“I was thinking about our conversation,” the young woman muses, getting quickly squiffy on the sparkling wine.

“The one we had on the phone?”

“No. Face to face.”

He takes another sip of beer and rests his elbows on the counter. “The one we had at the play then?”

“No.”

“The one when we had kebabs?”

“No,” a giggle escapes her when she realises how frequently they talked during the last couple of weeks. Practically daily. “The one where I burnt my fingers with tea, at my parents’. Our antepenultimate face to face.”

“Oh big word,” his head bends close enough to touch her shoulder with his cheekbone, and he whispers, “I love that.”

And he means it. He _loves_ that. Sure, the big hazel eyes, the golden hair, the never-ending legs… her looks could make her sign a very fructuous contract as a Victoria’s Secret model. But Max _loves_ her sharp wit and her messy sentences; and he _loves_ the fact that she is there, open, genuine with him, wearing her veracious heart on her sleeves; and he _loves_ her unashamed ambition and her acknowledged mistakes; and he _loves_ —

“I know what I want.”

Her voice rings clear despite the background music, cutting off his train of thought. And when he peers up at her, she purses her lips and bends her neck, her face suddenly very close to his. Her breath is warm against his skin, and he fights the urge to kiss her.

Max steadies himself as he downs the rest of his beer. 

“Hm? Do you?”

She nods eagerly. “I do. You?”

“I do know what I want too.”

“Great.”

“Fantastic.”

“You’re drunk.”

“I am.”

Carlotta giggles, her red lips glistening under the lights. He has drunk two beers already, because he’s with friends and people he likes and the music is good and the food okay and he has nothing planned tomorrow… yet, his mind is still alert and watchful, as it always is around her.

The next ten minutes they fill each other in on what they did the past few days –about the new bruise on his forearm because of his failed attempt at an ollie whilst skating –about the documentary she saw last night on Abelard and Heloise and how refreshing is it to see a secret affair ending in castration. Max laughs at that. The conversation is easy, familiar, happy, like slipping on their favourite pair of Chucks. Natural.

“Well I don’t want to be rude,” she eventually says, “I have to salute the others.”

The very last thing he wants now is to see her go, but Max surrenders in spite of a very long and valid list of reasons. With her usual elegance, Carlotta leaves her seat and leans in close to press a light kiss on his cheek in the most affectionate manner. 

“See you around Max.”

“For sure,” he replies stupidly.

A backwards glance at him, and Carlotta wades into the crowd, lights flickering over her hair like sunlight on water. As he watches her go, he finds himself entranced by the sway of her hips and is lost during long seconds.

Max eventually emerges from his reverie and manages to catch the waiter’s eyes to gesture at his empty glasses, “Another one please!”

-

Carlotta has just left the company of Daan (it’s nice to talk to another actor of her age for once, someone facing the same condescending looks at each new audition) and is now walking with a glass of Tequila Sunrise she almost dropped at Max’ sudden appearance.

“Do you want to dance?” he shouts quickly, gesturing towards the mass of people who have congregated in the middle, moving as one.

“What?!” she shouts back.

“I want to dance with you!” he begins to count on his fingers. “Look, I already danced with Gina, with Louis… with Deborah –Oh! With Mark as well!”

“Okay, I need pictures of that.”

Looking up, she grins at the stunning mess that Max is in front of her: sand-blond hair matted to his forehead by sweat, red cheeks and bright eyes, little drops beaded across his smooth skin, and Carlotta’s eyes can’t help but follow a single droplet of sweat as it makes its way down his neck into the collar of his t-shirt.

_fucking stunning_

She shakes her head in compliance. “Fine. Just let me finish my drink first.”

The man nods in agreement and waits docilly by her seat for her to finish her Tequila. Once her glass is empty, Max grabs a hold of Carlotta’s hand and all but drags her onto the dance floor, a large smile on his lips.

“Wait—” she laughs, watching as Max shakes as though he’d been electrocuted. “What are you doing?”

He scowls but doesn’t stop. “Dancing!”

The young woman can’t help but laugh again, tossing her head back as she lets the music run through her, leading her feet. She lets herself go, twisting and turning and bopping to the music, lost in the rhythm that makes her soar.

Hands, warm and heavy on her hips, bring her back down to earth as she sees Max swaying, getting pushed by the crowd into her. Carlotta watches, as he tilts his head with that smirk to look at her, eyes flashing bright under the alternating lights as they move together as one.

Her last coherent brain cell gauges the situation around them. The dance floor is dark, mostly surrounded by a thick cover of questionable smoke that clouds the vision of everyone. Besides, the rest of the people in the club seem too drunk or too busy to care about the dancing pack. 

Carlotta reaches out to put a hand on his biceps and she revels when he moves closer, hip to hip and practically chest to chest. Max puts an arm around her waist and presses her form against his, alcohol and Carlotta’s red lips giving him the nerve to touch her in public, and a chuckle escapes the young woman’s throat.

But the laugh dies when Max’s other hand cups her jaw to pull her face to his, and their foreheads touch. He begins to hum a slower melody different to the song filling their ears. Carlotta closes her eyes, and the two of them sway with this much more favourable unhurried tempo.

One by one, the other dancers vanish, the rest of the world disappearing, and an army of papz or curious eyes –or an elephant!– could enter the room at that moment, Max would still be caught in Carlotta’s magnetism. It is intimate and powerful and frustrating and it feels so fucking right to be so close to her —yet not close enough.

The same song carries on as his grip tightens on her hips and moves her along with their music. Carlotta bits her lower lip, and all Max can do is stare at her, marvelled by the sight. He wants to lick the taste of orange juice and lime out of the corner of her lips, wants to trace the sheen of sweat on her chest with his hands – _wants to know how it feels to hear her moan in pure bliss in his ear._ Max wants all that she is willing to give him and wants to give her all that he can in return.

The proximity of their bodies escalates with the constricted crowd surrounding them and she latches her arms around his neck, her hands weaving into his hair. Max makes an involuntary noise in the back of his throat. The idea that just two layers of thin clothes stand between his skin and hers is unbearable.

Slowly, his head falls forward against her shoulder and he nuzzles her hair, breathes her in. _Gardenias._ He drops a kiss just there, where her shoulder meets her neck, and tastes the saltiness of her skin.

Carlotta’s fingers tightened in his hair. “Max…”

He would burn the earth to the core to hear her say his name this way again, and so he kisses her skin once more, shivering as she echoes her delight. “–Max.”

Skilled hands are running lengths along her sides, her waist, her stomach, creasing her black top… Carlotta arches her back, the simple motion making her hips slide forward against his pelvis, and Max can feel a rising pressure on his groin.

His mouth moves from her neck to her ear, and teeth draw her lobe into his mouth to nibble it gently. A whimper falls from the young woman’s lips, and he keeps humming their music, in a perfect –slow and torturous and agonizing– in sync with their hips’ rolls. In that moment, he wants her in a way that he’s never wanted her, or anyone. To the point of delirium. To the very cusp of madness itself. Now _, in this club,_ where it isn’t safe at all.

“The–” she tries, inhaling sharply as her earlobe is being sucked. “The music you’re humming–”

Her question draws him out of his trance of hormones and alcohol, and the answer is a reluctant one, for he has to stop toying with her ear. “Hmm, Brahms.”

“I know…,” her breath tickles into the curve of his neck. “Symphony No.3.”

His surprise is evident as he pulls away. He tilts his head with a look of pure awe.

“I listen to a lot of eclectic and different types of music, you know?” she explains on her tiptoes. “I have good taste.”

A smug smile lifts the corner of Max’s mouth. He lowers his face closer to hers and purrs, “...I wish I could know that.”

The clear allusion turns Carlotta’s brain to mush, and she struggles to swallow.

Having been the one chasing him for years or the one pushing limits without real interest in the consequences, to see him now being the hunter, the one tracking her, the one leading their game… it feels astonishingly thrilling. Under the lights and the haze of alcohol, his stare is impossibly dark, hooded and dangerous.

_fuck_

She didn’t come to this event prepared for this at all.

There is about a good minute left to the song, and they remain immobile, clung to each other, all sweat and hard breathing. For any outside eyes, they would seem off; out of the beat; an island of stillness in an ocean of jumping people; lost –in each other.

“I have…” she breathes against him with difficulty. “I have something to tell you.”

He nods and it would be so easy to kiss her, to crush his mouth against hers, to–

Something bumps against his back, and Max struggles to keep his balance, arms tight around Carlotta’s waist.

“Max!”

The voice is friendly and joyful. Immediately, the young man turns to look at the intruder and finds the bluest pair of eyes he knows.

“Max! _Max_ Max Max, my dear friend!” Mark shouts, all smile and smashed, and slings one arm around his colleague’s shoulders without letting him time to reply, “we need you urgently outside! It is a life and death issue. Sorry to interrupt you and your fri– Oh. _Oh!_ Carlotta?”

Shooting an incredulous glare at the actress, the man straightens to fully take in the sight of the former young girl. And Mark feels suddenly very _very_ old.

“You’re observant, yes. It’s me.” Cheeks flushed, Carlotta leaves Max’s embrace to salute the other man. _“Hallo_ Mark.”

“You’ve changed!” he almost barks, and dashes forward to give her a quick but warm hug before returning to his previous spot. “The last time I saw you, you barely reached my shoulders and now… look at you! A very lovely young woman.”

She bits back a satisfied smile, and shrugs. _“Danke.”_

“You’re welcome!” he concludes with a wave of his hand. Back on the initial motivations that led him here, his attention switches to Max. “So, Max! We need you! Paul found a ball and we want to make a four against four, and we miss a player, and Louis is not over the defeat of Bayern Munich during the Champions’ League Final and he wants to replay the game–”

"Wait…You want to play football?” a bewildered Max asks and Carlotta observes the surrealistic conversation in front of her.

There is a very quick nod, and Mark grins gleefully like a kid caught planning a prank. _God,_ he is so drunk. “Yeah! You love football. It will be fun! And after three hours in this dark and noisy club, we need fresh air! Are you in?”

Max contemplates the invitation for a bit. To ignore it would be the height of bad manners and, in view of his actual state of excitement because of the dance he just shared with Carlotta, discharging his energy in some exertions sounds like a brilliant idea.

But it means abandoning his dance partner… Max’s gaze is dark as he looks back at her. A crooked smile ghost over her face before she rolls her eyes.

“Oh my God. Do what you want Max,” Carlotta playfully pushes him in the arm. “I’m not your mom!”

They part, a bit reluctantly as he’s drawn back by Mark out of the dance floor and disappears through a service door.

Now alone on the dance floor, Carlotta gives a dramatic, long-suffering sigh but can’t help the smile that steals over her face. Her hands tingle at the memory of their dance, of Max holding her so tightly, so close to him, of the words whispered to her ear, the lips on her skin… and she still feels again the heavy pounding in her chest and the burning heat between her legs.

Putting her right hand over her heart, Carlotta turns in research of a place to rest and her gaze meets with a pair of eyes _–no._ With two pairs of eyes.

Gina’ and Lisa’s eyes. Fixed on her.

The two women sit at a table, drinking cocktails, cocky smiles plastered on both their faces, clearly entertained by whatever show they witnessed… _Oh Scheiße!_ Gina waves outrageously at Carlotta and Lisa wiggles her finger to ask her to come closer.

_Scheiße! Scheiße!_

-

It’s somewhere around the second time she almost falls off her chair that Carlotta begins to have the sneaking suspicion that she’s drunk. Yet, with barely four words, Lisa immediately reawakens her hazy brain:

“We had a thing….”

“What?” _What?”_ Carlotta and Gina echo each other in perfect synch.

The brunette woman titters, quite proud of her effect on her colleagues, and counts on fingers gracefully to recollect her souvenirs. “Hmm, I think it was in… 2020? Yeah, the crazy 2020 year–”

“Wait… ” Before she can add more, Gina stops her, clear offense on her features for not having learned about this affair sooner: “Why did you not tell me earlier!?”

“It was so short-lived. It lasted less than two months if I remember correctly. Around November.”

“Did you sleep with him?”

Carlotta chokes in her glass at the question. “Oh please!” she exclaims, begging for this whole conversation to stop now.

“Yes _please!”_ Gina continues, begging for more details.

With excessive and calculated slowness, Lisa brings her glass to her lips. “It is not the place to talk about that.” Before taking another sip, she flicks her eyes back in Carlotta’s direction, and catches her staring at her with a curious expression. “It was fun, the time it lasted. But in the end we agreed to stop, because we acted more like two friends than a couple you know? There was not that spark you supposed to feel…”

The revelation is a surprise, because Lisa is _fucking_ beautiful, and elegant, and sophisticated, and the kind of woman the young blonde actress aspires to be since she’s twelve. How can there be no spark with her?

“…but I can tell you he is a nice guy.”

“I know,” Carlotta retorts before being able to stop herself, and two pairs of eyes are fixed on her red face. Caught, she corrects herself: “I mean... I _imagine_ he is.”

The two other women pause, looking intensely at the blonde actress, then back at each other, and fall into laughter. They manage to calm down after a few more desperate words of justification by Carlotta. Gina narrows her eyes at her, then quickly glances over in the direction the men took to go out and focus back on the young actress.

“He is older than you.”

“Or _really? Is he?”_ she snorts, reaching her half-empty beer to drink more. “I didn’t know that!”

“Just be prudent.”

“He would never–“

“Not with him,” her on-screen-bigger-sister cuts her.

“With the rest of the world,” Lisa specifies, smirking at how Carlotta was ready to defend Max. “People are quick to cancel you and to label you, above all in our industry. You could quickly be categorised as the arrivistic and profiteer young actress in search of a paternal figure. And he, the predatory and pervert actor taking advantage of a eighteen years old... It could crush your career. Both of yours.”

_the rest of the world._

Carlotta leans her cheek into one hand and sighs, as if suddenly bearing the weight of the world on her shoulders. She has never really thought about it. Sure, their ten years of difference are obvious and she knows how it could be perceived but… could it destroy them and their careers as well? Why can she not just kiss him and hold his hand in public? Why does the evident affection they have for each other must be hidden? Why is it not enough? Why does she want to scream so much?

Another heavy sigh and she mumbles something intangible against the rim of her empty glass. Next to her, Gina makes a grimace of pure compassion and wraps an arm around the poor girl’s shoulders to cheer her up. “Lisa, look what you’ve done! You ruined her mood!”

Lisa raises a hand to the waiter. “Let’s drink some more then.”

-  
-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeah, things are about to moving fast now lol  
> i would love to know what you think of it :)


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so, things are *finally* moving forward in this part ;D it was very fun to write it tbh  
> if you liked, you know the drill: kudos and/or comments (if you didn't like, RPF is not your thing so leave please :P)  
> .  
> and thanks to my lovely beta YOU'RE MY SAVIOR ♥

**-**

**late june 2025 Berlin,  
same night**

-

“You know what? That was definitely a penalty! But– _OH!_ –Paul decided otherwise.”

It’s past 3am and Max’s voice echoes against the buildings lining the empty street. He knows he should lower his voice for the sleeping people of Berlin, but there’s a valid reason he isn’t quiet: he is _very_ drunk.

“Wait, wait, wait–hold on!” Carlotta stops in front of him, forcing him to do the same. “So, Paul was the referee and playing for the other team at the same time?” 

“Exactly!” he raises his hands to the sky in an exaggerated rage. “His excuse was that since he was the one who found the ball, he could be the referee! The greatest scandal in sport history!” 

The young woman chuckles, tucking her hands into her jeans’ pockets to ward off the surprising freshness of this June night, and Max loosely drapes an arm around her shoulders. She does the same around his waist and they start to walk. 

The party ended twenty minutes ago and when Carlotta said that she had to catch the last metro, Max offered to walk her to the station. Just in case. The proposal made her break out in giggles because, in his state, he would prove an absolutely useless bodyguard. 

“Max,” she looks up through eyelashes, pressed against his side, “you’re drunk.” 

He shakes his head, releasing an intoxicated snort. “Noooo, I’m not. A little lightheaded at the most.”

Carlotta leaves the comfort of his warmth and stills in front of him, arms folded on her chest as if about to lecture him. “Okay, okay, okay, fine. Prove it! Can you recite the alphabet backwards?” 

“Ah!” he points a vindicating finger at her. “Easy peasy! Z–”

Then, nothing more, and his mouth freezes open as if all his senses just shut down. Max blinks slowly, and the efforts his foggy mind is making to function leak out on his face. Creased forehead and eyebrows, lips parted trying to catch any sound, hands contracted with frustration… The sight is just too much for Carlotta. The young woman starts to laugh, a high pitched and rather hysterical kind of laugh that forces her to hold her sides.

After long seconds of struggling to catch her breath, she straightens up and swivels around to look at him, eyes bright with happy tears. “Oh my God… You –you are so drunk!”

“Excuse me, but you are just as drunk as I am!”

She shakes her head and places a hand above her heart. “No, I am a princess! I never get drunk. It’s the people around me that are delirious.” 

“…a Princess,” his husky voice repeats.

She nods and intense blue eyes are watching her, as if perceiving exactly what she’s thinking. Max smirks. “So let’s dance, Princess,” he bows down dramatically and holds out his hand, “Would you give me the honour?”

Carlotta accepts the invitation. 

He locks his hand with hers as his other one moves to her lower back to bring her closer and she places her fingers to his shoulder, just barely resting there. All smiles and proud, Max starts to lead, muttering the tempo of a waltz and she can feel the warmth of his palm through the velvet of her black shirt.

“One-two-three, one-two-three, one-two-three...”

And in the middle of the night, up and down, back and forth on the empty pavement, they move together. It is utterly impracticable and childish and stupid, yet strangely intimate to dance there. The waltz, after all, is not a terribly complicated dance: a close hold, six basic steps meant to travel around the room –or in their case, around the paved sidewalk. So, they dance, swaying to their own music.

“One-two-three, one-two-three, one-two-three...”

Max holds her close and safe. Carlotta can steady herself against him, but her feet eventually trample and she snickers, her laugh ringing in the silence of the summer night. They keep turning chaotically and loudly, the rare nocturnal pedestrians throwing them disapproving glances, and the summer breeze rustling gently in their hair… It is just perfect.

“Max –Max,” the young woman tries to talk between giggles, “Max, my head is spinning…”

“Waltz does that,” he replies and reduces the speed of their ballet until they’re immobile. “Alcohol, too.”

Carlotta’s cheeks are red and round, and she leans one of them briefly against his before moving back. “Dancing with you is great.”

“I’m glad to hear that!“

She huffs a laugh and silence settles over them, their arms draped around each other. The air is pleasantly fresh with some sort of sweet, flowery scent lingering in it, and her long blonde locks move with the wind. Max’s eyes follow their course.

“Hm, by the way, you wanted to tell me something earlier?”

“Oh yes!” Carlotta yells, having completely forgotten that detail. “Something to tell _and_ show you! Come!”

Before any response, she grabs his hand energetically and they make their way down the street in less than twenty seconds.

“Carl’, the subway is in the opposit–’

“I know, but it’s not very far! Just two or three blocks!”

The streetlights over their heads are trembling, lights catching errant golden locks in a metropolitan halo that mesmerizes Max’s hazy brain, but his shaky steps follow hers no matter what. The siren of a police car is heard from afar, perturbing the silent night. It seems the rules of time and space didn’t apply at that moment as the three blocks pass in the blink of an eye.

Carlotta eventually stops in front of a door with a digital code. Max stares up at the building itself, typical in style like most of the early twentieth-century edifices in _Kreuzberg quarter._ He blinks when his gaze returns to the young woman. 

Pleased by his puzzle face, she turns her attention to the digital box to type the code, but– _“Scheiße!”_ –is unable to remember it. 

This time, Max is the one to burst out laughing. “See?! As drunk as me!”

“No no no no…. I remember the code! Just wait!” Carlotta says and closes her eyes. Out of the blue, she starts to hum _Lemon Tree_ for the next ten seconds and, miraculously, the combination comes back to her mind and the thick door opens with a small tok.

“I used that trick to memorize the Pythagorean Theorem at school,” she says proudly. “Come in!”

“Is this legal?”

“I have the entry code. Of course it is!” 

She laces her fingers with his again and, once inside, they hastily make their way to the stairs. First floor. Second floor. By the third floor, she turns around to lay back on a wooden door and drags Max closer to her.

“Here.”

He licks his lips and grins. “ _Here_ what?”

“That door,” the young woman beams and retrieves something from her pocket. Keys.

They open the door in a mess of noise and wobbly steps, and walk into the dark place together. When they reach the middle of the room, Carlotta turns and spreads her arms with a _‘Tada!’_ Due to her excitement, she stumbles slightly. Max is quick to grab her arm in a loose grip in order to steady her and they once again end wrapped around each other.

Before them, the room is long but narrow, bare of furniture or plants or anything attesting the presence of people living there. There is a large window, and urban light comes from downwards, casting wide, lacy shadows over the night. Behind them is a small but open kitchen, and Max notices a corridor by the counter.

“What is this place?” he asks with a curious smile.

“My place.”

His eyes on hers, he slightly pulls back and says, “Your place?”

Carlotta nods during many many seconds. “I chose Berlin University! My parents are okay with letting me have my own place away from them, but I will have to share because it’s too expensive,” she explains, her fingers toying with the seams of his t-shirt. “Roommates! Apparently, there will be a girl from France. The Erasmus Program. And there will be… someone else, I don’t know yet!” 

The alcohol and exhaustion and Max’s proximity makes her lose the ability to articulate her thoughts. She moves without thinking, takes a side step, pressing herself fully against him. His arms tighten around her waist. 

Max grins. “So you’re staying.”

“Yep!”

The darkness seems to make the walls, and him, closer –more present. His body is warm against hers, warm from the drink, from the summer night spent with the people they’ve known for over eight years ( _God,_ has it been that long?), warm with yearning and desire, and warm with coming promises. Carlotta trails her fingers down the curve of his neck, his Adam’s apple, down to the rim of his t-shirt.

"You’re so pretty,” she whispers and can’t help but titter just after. She sounds breathless and unsure, and Max wants to believe her.

“No. You are so pretty.”

“Wanna see my room?”

He casts his eyes to the small corridor once more and, in the same millisecond, looks back at Carlotta.

“Oh don’t worry Max! There is no bed in it yet!”

She takes his hand and they stagger down the corridor, passing two doors which are, as Carlotta explains, the other bedrooms. Then a fourth door –the bathroom– and when they reach the last one, she pushes it, leading Max inside.

He pauses. "Oh Carl’, you lied.”

“No no no I didn’t. Look,” moving into the room, she points at the bare mattress laid on the floor at her feet. “This is not a bed!”

With a loud sigh, Carlotta sits down upon it and lets herself fall back, eyes wide open fixed up on the ceiling. “…Max?”

“Hm?” 

“Why is the room spinning?”

The mattress shifts gently as another weight joins hers on the soft surface. Now on his side, Max’s head rests on his bent arm and he silently observes her profile. Air comes in and out of her lungs at a low but steady pace.

“feel like…”, Carlotta whispers, exhaustion taking over her body, “…like I’m gonna throw up.”

“Carl’.”

No answer.

“Carlotta, turn,” his voice, for almost the first time, carries notes of authority. “Lay on your side.”

Too tired to object to the order or to understand its motives, she obeys. As if weighed down by a bag of bricks, it takes her a great effort to move and face Max. Now on her side, she lets out a loud sigh.

“Will it,” she pauses to take another breath, “–stop me from throwing up?”

“No, but if it happens–in this position–you won’t suffocate and die.”

“My guardian angel,” she manages to say and closes her eyes.

“ _Gute Nacht,_ Carl’.”

She is the first to fall asleep. A couple of yawns and blinks later, Max follows her.

-

The morning sun shines obnoxiously into the room and Carlotta doesn’t remember waking up –she’s just suddenly awake. There’s no amount of fogginess left over from last night that can distract her from the fact that she is not alone in her bed. _No– on her mattress._ She is pressed close to a warm masculine body beside her.

Raising her head enough, she notices the drool left on his shoulder and she gently swipes at the spot she left on the t-shirt.

Even with senses murky with sleep, it’s impossible to ignore the coiling feeling in her stomach as she stares down at Max sleeping. 

The young woman rests her chin on his chest and interested eyes scan his peaceful face, made of angular features and faint lines. They are not fully formed yet, like light lines of a drawing sketch, waiting to break through and settle for good on his skin. Some of his lines come and go –when he talks, when he laughs, when he frowns– and some will eventually stay forever… and Carlotta is quite curious to know which ones.

Her body shifts imperceptibly, moving up, and her nose nuzzles the line of his jaw, a light stubble already there.

“Max,” she whispers against his skin to wake the sleeping beauty. “Max…”

Daring, Carlotta reaches to card her fingers through his hair but he sighs, the moment gone before she can make contact.

Parting a mouth dry with sleep, he cracks one eye open. Then a second one. And he finds two stunning hazel irises above him. 

“Huh – _Guten Morgen,_ ” he mumbles once his ability to be polite is back.

Carlotta smiles sunnily above him. “ _Guten Morgen,_ Max.”

“Okay so, where –what is this place?”

“My place. Remember?”

“Give me two seconds…”

And Carlotta giggles. Max’s head falls back on the bare mattress with a sigh and he rubs a hand over his face, before connecting the blurry dots of last night, bit by bit. 

_Empty streets. Their dance. Her place. Roommates. Berlin Univers– Berlin University!_

There is a little hiccup from his heart. Max looks up at the girl pressed against his side, and blinks owlishly for a moment.

“You chose Berlin…” he breathes, afraid if he says the words too loud, the truth will disappear. 

“Indeed,” she begins, reaching her hand up to brush his cheek briefly, “everything I need or I care about is in Berlin. So my parents agreed to give me some independence.”

“God bless them!”

Carlotta laughs unabashedly at his words, and he wants to hear that sound again.

“You finally did it…” He grins with an amused glint in his eyes. “We slept together.”

With another giggle, the young woman buries her face in his chest for a few seconds. Out of habit, one of Max’s arms slides over her shoulders to circle around them, squeezing her closer.

“Well, I’m quite disappointed,” her voice is fond as she talks, “I felt nothing!”

As her laughter subsides, he wonders, _how can she be that beautiful after a party like the one they just had last night? After so little sleep? After so much alcohol?_ She hovers above him, pressed against his body. For a moment, Max forgets how to breathe. Her hair tumbles around her shoulders, golden curls and waves framing her face, and he just wants to comb through it with his fingers. His eyes pan down her face, stopping at her lips… Carlotta is a sight to savour and Max is one hundred percent certain she knows it.

“I want to kiss you right now.”

His voice is barely audible and the unforeseen request startles the young woman. She tries to read the face inches from hers, tries to see if it’s the hazy mind talking or the remains of alcohol… but no. Max doesn’t avert his eyes, and what she sees in them pleases her.

“I mean–” he pauses, meditative, “maybe I should brush my teeth befo—”

Whatever he was going to say is lost when her hands cup his face to push her mouth against his. For a millisecond, Carlotta is terrified that Max is going to pull back and push her away, but her fears fly out the window as his lips start to respond. And the whole world grinds to a halt.

The only things that exist now are his warm, large hands resting gently on her shoulders, and his soft lips pressing firmly against hers. 

Without conscious thought, they both close their eyes. Carlotta leans more into him. He smells like alcohol and musk and him, and when she parts her lips he passes the tip of his tongue over her bottom one. Their mouths move together in sync, hot and wet and so terribly sweet that a whimper escapes Carlotta’s throat.

Her body feels like it’s on fire and she shivers, not unnoticed by the man under her. 

Reluctantly, Max draws back and it allows them to catch their breath.

“You’re okay?” He pants into her mouth, licking in behind her teeth before pulling away. 

She nods, eagerly, her lips searching for his. “Yeah–”

“You definitely practised…”

“Well, in two years, I certainly hope so!“ A crooked smile ghosts over Carlotta’s reddish face at the memory of their first kiss. "Okay now–”

Her lips are back against his.

_–enough talking!_

Carlotta presses everything into that kiss, all the longing and emotion and pure want that was building within her for two years– and even longer than that. She wants him to feel that she’s not playing anymore. She means it, she is fucking _serious_ and _ready_ for whatever Max is willing to offer her, be it for a night or for much longer.

Max’s hands slide down to settle weightily around her waist and rolls her under him.

Every coherent thought is wiped from Carlotta’s mind when she feels him settling between her legs, his hips pressing into hers.

“Carlotta…” he grunts, as he runs one hand up her thigh, her chest, her shoulders, to tug on the fine little curls at the base of her neck. He says nothing more, only wanting to taste her name once before taking her lips again.

He presses her into the mattress, and a sudden pang of desire pools low in the young woman’s belly. She arches into his touch, and wraps her legs around his waist, seeking for more contact through their clothes. One of her hands ventures down to grab his arse, causing him to buck into her hips and forcing a moan out of her.

"Yes, Max…” she mewls into his mouth.

“You like that?” he breathes as he moves back out of her reach, eyes unapologetically amused at her enthusiasm.

“…don’t tease.”

And she grabs Max’s face and yanks it back down so he could kiss her. His hips slide against hers again instinctively, the delicious pleasure of friction through their jeans growing and she can feel the beginning of his hardness… If this is a dream, Carlotta never wants to wake up. She never wants this to end.

Her fingers run down his chest to stop at his belt to start unbuckling it. But strong, familiar fingers wrap around her wrist to stop her.

Max pulls back, Carlotta chasing after his lips desperately, and looks down. The young woman is a vision to behold, lips red and swollen, eyes hooded, hair a wreck from where his hands ran through and tugged at. 

“Wait,” pants Max.

“No,” she huffs as she pouts her lips. Only this time, Max is able to kiss it away, and he does. Quick and innocent, but a kiss nevertheless.

“Why’d you stop?”

“We’re going too fast,” he shakes his head, crawling back off Carlotta to sit back on the mattress, arranging his hands to cover his lap, which has grown very interested in moving fast. “I—this is too fast.”

She pulls a face as though she can’t believe what she heard. “Too fast? We waited for months. For years… in my case.”

Max chuckles softly as Carlotta straightens to sit cross legged on the mattress, frowning, and she brushes a piece of hair behind her ears. She is still panting.

“And we’ve been dating for a week now. That’s hardly too fast!”

Now it’s Max’s turn to frown. “What? No we haven’t! We haven’t been dating for a week, we’ve been—”

“Going out to get kebabs, to theatres, texting each other every damn day, cuddling each time we meet, practically having sex on the dancefloor?” Carlotta drawls as she arches one eyebrow. “I mean… do you do that with all of your friends?”

“Well no! But—” A pause and the actor ponders.

Carlotta rolls her eyes. Under her light weight, the mattress moves and in a blink, her face is in front of his. She kisses him, in a soft and furtive way, and pulls back. “You are _very_ lucky you’re cute.”

A pink flush begins to dust across his cheeks at her compliment but it disappears as quickly as it came.

“Okay so, since I just learned that, _apparently,_ we were dating for a whole week, I want to do things properly now,” he said carefully, and the two of them look at each other for long seconds. They’re both smiling widely, like two sappy teenagers who kissed for the first time– excited and keen for more. “I want to take you out to dinner, hold your hand across the table, open the doors for you, buy some flowers… the whole nineteenth century thing!”

Slowly, Carlotta reaches out for his hand, and their hands meet midway on the mattress, fingers lacing. Her thumb rubs his knuckles and she smiles.

“So, are we- are we a thing now?”

The faint wrinkle at the corner of his mouth appears when it curls up, “I would really like that, yes.” 

He raises her hand to his lips and kisses the back of it, and Carlotta realises she could easily get used to such affectionate gestures.

“I would love that too. It’s just–” she says, hesitation in her tone, “we must be discreet.” 

Max raises an eyebrow, which pushes her to elaborate. She takes a deep breath and closes her eyes.

“I don’t want what exists between us ruining you. Or I. Or our careers,” she says carefully, opening her eyes in time to see a large grin plastered on Max’s face. “I mean… Most people are inherently bad! They enjoy rumours and scandals and strange things and they love to criticize and- I am not saying that what we have is bad! _No!_ But if we’re honest, it is peculiar. And we can be labelled and judged so quickly in a merciless public trial. And people will feast on our fall and I don’t want that to happen to you or t–”

Max leans forward and presses his lips against hers to cut her rambling.

When he pulls back, the room basking in morning sunshine and Max looks magnificent in the warm light. Carlotta’s chest feels tight and full, almost as though she can’t breathe, but she revels in the notion that he is hers now. That she can kiss him, that she can touch him –that _he_ can touch _her._

“Fine, as you wish,” he says solemnly, “I had the same idea to be honest. And, it is not that terrible you know… Secrecy can make things more appealing.”

Carlotta smirks, unable to resist teasing him. “Oh. You need this to be appealed?”

He cocks his head in amusement, eyes creasing, and he brings her hand once more to his lips to kiss it. “So… breakfast? Outside? I invite you. Discreetly.”

She shakes her head.

He looks at her. “Not hungry?”

Carlotta leans in close, and she quickly scrambles into his lap to straddle him, both legs around his hips. The way she executes the manoeuvre so perfectly leaves the man stunned for a moment.

“Not hungry for food.”

She throws herself at Max, arms around his neck, smashing their lips together in a heart-stopping, toe curling kind of kiss. It shatters any fears or doubts she might have over the public’s opinion on their relationship. And if they are exposed one day, it would be worth it.

Max tangles one hand in her long hair as she continues to kiss the life out of him, his other hand coming to rest possessively on the curve of her arse. A gasp of approval escapes her throat.

They fall back down the mattress together, intertwined as they kiss languidly and sweetly, as though they’d been kissing their whole lives. It’s everything Carlotta pictured and more –his warm body on top of her, the scent of his shampoo and cologne, the press of his leg between hers, the gentle way he hums when he is sucking at the tip of her tongue. _So fucking good!_

“Food is–” Carlotta breathes against his mouth. “–overrated”

“Agreed,” Max sighs.

-


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as usual, if RPF is not your thing, okay! no need to be mean :D  
> this fic has over 430 hits SO I WANTED TO THANK YOU ALL!!! and... it means that more people read it than comment it _hmmmmmm guysss...._
> 
> ANYWAY, so this is a light and fun chapter, i hope you will enjoy. things will spice up a little next chapter ;)  
> and thanks for my lovely beta ♥♥♥♥!

**-**

**10 July 2025,  
Berlin**

-

Planning a date is, by far, easier said than done. Even if, technically speaking, they already went on a ‘date’ a few times, tonight is their first time as an ‘official’ couple –which is quite ironic since they both want to keep a low-profile.

Carlotta finds herself struggling to decide what to wear, or where to go, or how to behave. After years of building Max-the-boyfriend up as an unattainable thing of her imagination, everything is real and palpable now, and, _oh,_ so hectic.

Most of her clothes being in moving boxes for her new shared apartment, she changes outfits only three times before deciding on the one she likes.

“Sweetie!” her mother calls from downstairs, startling Carlotta from where she’s standing before the mirror next to her door. “Don’t forget your audition tomorrow!”

A sigh. “Yes I know mama! I will be back before midnight!”

She looks quickly at herself one last time and comes out of her room, jogging down the stairs to the ground floor and passing the living room without a halt.

“Carlotta,” her mother’s voice again, and the young woman turns on her heels, her hand already on the doorknob to leave. “You are very pretty for just an evening with friends in the middle of the week, hm? When, actually, many of your friends are away from vacation, hm hm?”

She is wearing a light cream blouse tucked into a pair of black jeans with embroidery held up by a leather belt. At her feet, her favourite Adidas sneakers, and around her wrist, the yellow and red bracelet Max gave her. Of course her mother noticed the two hours she spent in the bathroom. And of course, her mother knows that most of her friends are out of town for summer.

“Well, I’m an actress! I must always be ready to seduce an impromptu cast jury. And… I have friends you don’t know.”

“I am sure of that,” the older woman smiles and focuses back on the TV-screen to watch a replay of _Tatort._ “Be careful sweetie. And have fun!”

“ 'kay, bye mama.”

Carlotta gives her watch a surreptitious glance. _Scheiße!_ She is going to be late.

-

Max is waiting for her up the stairs of the _Hausvogteiplatz_ underground station entrance. He stands against the handrail and when his eyes catch hers, his face lightens up –just like in a scene from a 50’s American romantic movie. A fedora and he is Gregory Peck ready to take her for a Vespa ride.

They kiss quickly, like stones skipping across the surface of a pond, and start to walk down the street side by side. Chatting casually, they try to remain physically distant, try to keep what they have under the radar, but their shoulders and fingers keep brushing at every new step, sending electric shocks through Carlotta’ spine.

Deep down, however, they both know that things can’t continue this way indefinitely. Something is going to happen —they are guaranteed to get caught eventually or to confess it unintentionally one day or let something slip. The only thing that would stop that from happening would be for them to stop things now. And they don’t want things to stop. At all.

Carlotta carefully gives out directions of the place she chose, leading their walk, raising her voice occasionally to be heard over cars. Every now and again she catches Max’s eye in the fading light, the two of them sharing a shy smile at being caught looking at the other. It’s fresh, and exciting, something new that is on the verge of sprouting into something more.

They stop in front of the restaurant Carlotta picked. It has many nice reviews on the internet, with vegan meals and a large carte of beers from all over Europe. _Royals & Rice X Sons of Mana_ is the name. A place that will definitely please Max’s sensitive palate.

What Carlotta didn’t expect, however, is for him to draw short at the sight of the restaurant, pausing in the gutter. “What?” Carlotta asks, furrowing her brow in confusion.

“Nothing, it’s just… how did you find out about this place?”

“Huh, I was looking for a nice place with vegan options and not too hyped to remain discreet, but pleasant enough, you know? I read comments that said they had a delicious carte of beers. Max…, what’s wrong?”

Clearing his throat, he rubs the back of his neck with a smile. “I uh, I used to take Sofia here, for the Beers. She only drank one kind of Dutch beer so…”

Humiliation rushes down Carlotta’s spine like an ice bath. She has managed to put her foot in it by inviting Max to the very same place he took his ex-girlfriend to. “Fuck,” breathes the young woman, and she presses the heels of her palms into her eyes, groaning. “Oh I’m a fucking idiot.”

“It’s okay,” Max chuckles. “I mean, the food’s great, and the beers are even better—”

“We’re so not going here!”

“Carl’, it’s fine! I love it here, I mean, they’ve got this one dessert with raspberries and coco milk—”

“No! Nope, no, don’t care how great it is, we’re not going to your ex-girlfriend’s favourite restaurant for our first date!”

Carlotta fishes out her phone from her back pocket to ask google maps for some advice and starts to ramble to herself, “…yeah of course over the half billions of restaurants in Berlin, I had to choose the only one to avoid. Brilliant Carlotta! An idiot…”

Her gaze down on the bluish screen, she sees Max moving closer from the corner of her eye. He places himself by her, their sides touching, and plants a kiss on the top of her head, nuzzling his nose in her hair.

“So now… what?” he breathes into her golden mane.

“Maybe this,” she smiles, her shoulder lightly bumping his, and looks up. “What about a _crêperie_ then? A restaurant specialized in French crêpes, with many different ciders or beers. And… vegan options if I read correctly! It’s not very far, on the _Französische Straße._ ”

The smile he gives her is warm and wicked all at once. “ ‘sounds great.”

-

Their walk to the restaurant isn’t a long one, and Max, ever the gentleman, holds the door open for her when they come in.

“Table for two,” he informs the hostess. She nods, grabbing their menus and beckoning them further into the restaurant; fortunately, there is a table open in the back. Waiting until Carlotta has sat down (“Really Max?” “Really Carl’. Nineteenth century and all.”), Max slides into the chair across her. The nerves in the young woman’s stomach light up like fireworks.

“This looks good,” she smiles, opening her menu and scanning the items. “Lots of good options.”

“Cider?” Max asks, raising his hand to catch their waiter’s attention. “From Normandy?”

“Perfect!” Carlotta replies with a flush, and she busies herself with the menu and carefully reading the options. During a brief moment, she is nervous that they won’t be able to slip into the couple dynamic, that things will be too awkward or that the conversation will die… Maybe too much pressure to act perfect? And too much fear to ruin everything with just a word or a gesture?

Her mouth opens to say something, but she is interrupted by the waitress delivering the bread. Carlotta starts in surprise, but straight away gives the order she chose in a terrible French accent. Max does the same, and the young actress watches as the waitress looks at him and blushes before scurrying away again as he thanks her.

“She recognized you… you made her nervous,” Carlotta teases, reaching for her napkin. “She must have a crush on you. Who can blame her though?”

Max preens, fluffing his hair with one hand as if in the middle of a photo session. “What can I say? I purposely dressed to impress.”

She laughs softly and any trace of nervousness she felt before disappears.

-

The rest of the dinner goes off without a hitch, the two of them falling back into the easy rhythm they have always had. Over cider and crêpes, they laugh and joke, reminiscing about previous projects, talking about travel or music or even fashion… she tells him about her audition tomorrow and he guarantees that she will ace it. Both of them act as though things are as they always were -the only difference is, beneath the table, Carlotta’s foot is tracing its way to Max’s calf, and Max is able to reach across and hold her hand in his as his intense blue and dark eyes never leave her face.

By the time their dessert – _mousse au chocolat_ covered espresso beans– arrives, Carlotta is just slightly tipsy and she doesn’t even have to look to know that her cheeks are rosy with cider. Max, for his part, just looks fond, running his spoon through the dessert.

When the bill comes, he holds out his credit card so quickly that by the time she’s able to bring Euros out on the table, the check is already paid.

“The date was my idea, I pay,” he explains with a cocky grin.

“I found the restaurant so I’m responsible for the expenses,” she attempts to argue.

“I drank more than you.”

“My entree was more expensive.”

“Fine. Next time, you pay.” He smiles, their hands intertwined across the table. “And, I can afford it.”

“That’s not the point,” she sighs, hoping her reply doesn’t sound too curt.

Max tilts his head, trying to work out where this is going, and he can feel her fingers playing with the silver ring on his hand out of nervousness. Carlotta pauses and runs her eyes up and down his perplexed face.

“What’s the matter, Carl’?”

“It’s just—” 

Suddenly, Max finds himself on the other end of some rather intense eye contact as Carlotta leans forward on her forearms and whispers just to him: “I don’t want people to imagine that you spend money on me and that is the reason I am with you.”

Confusion is still etched on his features and she has to make herself clear.

“You know, like… a sugar daddy.”

The words come out with a grimace on Carlotta’s face, and for a few seconds, the concept is so absurd, implausible, and ludicrous that Max doesn’t process it. He blinks dozens of times and finally, cracks up: the rare wrinkles by his eyes deepen further, his mouth curls up and he is laughing. Loudly.

“Jesus _fucking_ Christ!” he almost barks, unable to stop cackling, and sees the waitress looking in their direction at the sound. “Oh God… Carlotta. What? I am not that old. Neither that rich-” a pause to catch his breath and wipe the tears in the corners of his eyes. “This is ridiculous!”

“I know that!” she pauses, eyes looking around the room before focusing back on Max’s. “But…it will definitely cross the mind of some people, you know? I bet this is what the waitress is actually thinking!”

Max huffs out a laugh and brings her hand to his lips for a kiss. “Then, it will be the two of us against the world.”

-

They spend the next hour walking around, enjoying the dark skies and the pleasant warm breeze of a July night. Berlin’s streets are busy and bustling with their inhabitants, and even if it’s the middle of the week, hundreds of people gather along the river _Spree_ to enjoy its freshness.

This is unbearable for Carlotta. Not the heat, but to be so close to Max and to deny herself the pleasure of touching him, of feeling his breath against her lips and fanning across her cheeks, of being unable to do anything at all while it’s their first date! How frustrating…

They turn into a street behind a large building, away from the main busy ones, and his fingers instantly find hers, making her turn to face him.

“Carl’,” Max’s voice is filled with something warm and sincere, “I’m going to kiss you now.”

The young woman barely has the time to smile. Max’s lips are on hers and then the world slides away in a wave of heat she hoped for from the time her eyes laid on him waiting outside the station exit. Carlotta reaches out to hold onto him, her fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt, but when he presses her back against the nearby wall to change the angle of the kiss, she wraps her arms around his neck to hold him close.

 _This,_ she thinks as his hands dip beneath the hem of her blouse so she can feel his fingers on her skin, _this_ is what she wants. He breathes her name into her mouth as she arches against him, and one of his legs settles between hers.

A gasp and eventually he pulls back, his cheeks flushed and pupils blown wide. Max’s lips hover over hers: “I wanted to do that for hours…”

Like landing slowly back on earth, Carlotta’s head leans to rest against the wall, pulling in each breath like she is starved for it. Her hands run down his chest and grip at his shirt.

“Same,” she answers in a smirk, “and… I’m not fully satiated yet.”

“Same.”

And they kiss again, letting it get a little more out of control than they planned to.

-

The subway ride passes in a blur. Maybe the cider she drank, or the hypnotic landscape going by, or the fact that their empty car (except for a band of girls laughing at videos on their phones) allowed them to kiss without restriction? Too soon, they climb stairs, stepping out into her station, and are walking into her parents’ residential area.

Max insisted on escorting her despite Carlotta claiming there was no need, that she risked nothing, and indeed it’s a nice and calm neighbourhood. They both know his true motivation was the prospect of being able to kiss her again, and again, and again…

It’s past midnight by a few minutes and the house is in sight. Max puts an arm around her shoulders and she leans closer towards him, not minding his warmth even in this summer night. When they finally reach the front of the Von Falkenhayn’s house, he decides to wrap her into a hug, pulling her in tight and tucking his face into the crook of her neck.

“I will count the hours,” he breathes. Against him, the young woman shivers.

“Me too,” she asks, as eager as him, “Maybe... you could come to help me to move in my new place?”

Max moves his head back, thinking. “Yeah, sure. Oh and it’s my movie’s premiere soon…”

“I would love to come but, you know? The secretive thing between us...”

“What thing between us?” he cuts her quickly and playfully nudges her nose with his own, “But sure, I will help you with your boxes.”

A bright smile spreads across Carlotta’s face.

“Then it’s a date,” she says softly, still amazed by how she is now allowed to go on dates with him, to kiss him, to touch him, because – _bless this glorious reality!_ – he’s hers now. “And can I say that… the fact that you quit smoking make your kisses taste better.”

“You are indeed a lucky girl.”

“Oh I sure am.”

The next press of Carlotta’s lips against his brings a sigh from Max and the man closes his eyes as she wraps her arms about his waist. It is a sweet and gentle kiss of hidden promises, with no rush to break away as if they have all night.

His mouth opens as though he wants to say something but instead pushes a rebellious lock of golden hair from her face. “Well,” he drawls. “It’s getting late. And you have work tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” says Carlotta.

“Yeah…” he repeats.

“That was a very very pleasant evening,” the young woman reluctantly pulls away. “We should go to bed.”

Max’s eyes widen a fraction before his head tilts, amused. “ _We_ —?”

Now it’s her turn to cock her head and she can feel her cheeks heating up. She bites her bottom lip and looks up to find Max’s eyes. “I mean; _I_ should go to bed.”

She could swear she spotted a fraction of disappointment on Max’s face, and his lips purse into a little moue that Carlotta desperately wants to kiss away. She eventually does with a peck, and whispers against his mouth: “ _Gute Nacht_ Max.”

“ _’nacht_ Carlotta.”

A look over her shoulder, and she sees him watching her as she goes inside the house.

-


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this new update and the two next parts are happening in the same 24hours -because a lot will happen this day hehe  
> so, take this part as the beginning of just one very long chapter and that's why this part is quite slow and not a lot of things are happening here :)  
> -
> 
> AS USUAL if rpf is not your thing, please leave -but if you like, kudos & comments are always nice ♥  
> and THANK FOR MY WONDERFUL BETA WHO DESERVES THE WORLD <3

**-  
-  
**

**25 July 2025,  
** **Berlin, 02:35pm**

-

A knock and the door opens.

“You’ve brought help!” Carlotta exclaims, acknowledging the familiar man waving behind Max.

“I did, but I promised him something in return.”

Jak nods. “Yeah, two blondes!”

On the threshold, the young woman cocks an eyebrow, unsure how to take the words she just heard. And as the explanation doesn’t come, Max rolls his eyes at his friend. “He is talking about beers.”

“ _Oh!_ I do have beers, yes!” Her answer lights up Jak’s face, and she invites them to enter, “but… after the job is done, gentlemen.”

They didn’t text each other to coordinate their clothes, but the picture is funny enough to notice for they are all wearing the same comfy and practical items: Carlotta in shorts and a large t-shirt that looks intentionally faded rather than just worn, and both men in simple jeans pants and old t-shirts, Max opting for his iconic GUESS one.

This morning, the young woman and her family already dealt with two dozens of boxes –mainly clothes, food and supplies for college– and after hours of trying to put some semblance of order in the apartment, her brother suggested pizzas… Unanimously, it was decided to leave the boxes alone, and as none of them couldn’t stay for the afternoon, Carlotta called Max for help. He accepted.

What she didn’t plan was that he would come with Jak. Any additional pair of hands is of course welcome, but it means Carlotta would have to restrain herself from crushing her lips on Max’s whenever she wants to… _a true torture._

She leads her guests to the living room and, with a wide grin, turns to face Jak. “So, what do you think?”

“ ‘s nice,” is his answer, and he stops by the kitchen’s counter to observe the place in its entirety.

“Thanks! Sure it’s quite empty right now and there are boxes everywhere and my future roommates will add their own things, but” she points at the two friends one after the other, “you are here to help me with that.”

Jak snorts and observes the young woman. She is standing close to Max, their arms almost touching in the small space between them and, he can swear it, her still fingers seem to search for Max’s, attracted to them. Personal space seems like an unknown notion for these two.

“So,” he starts, curiosity evident in his voice, “you two are… together now?“

In one breath,;"Yes,” from Max – “No,” from Carlotta.

Jak’s eyes widen almost imperceptibly and a smile creeps onto his lips when the couple turns to face each other.

“ _Yes?”_ she repeats Max’s answer, just to be certain she heard properly.

“ _No?”_ he does as well, for the same reason.

“Well, I thought we decided to keep it private and hidden from the rest of the world,” Carlotta says, alluding to the third person present in the room.

“Yeah, I agree. But Jak is not a part of the rest of the world—”

“…thank you,” Jak slurs from his spot.

“—so I told him. But he guessed it before I told him, to be honest,” Max continues as though his friend didn’t interrupt. “And, I think I might have said it to another friend…and, maybe another one as well…”

For a moment, Carlotta considers the situation. The more people are aware of them being a couple, the more chances there are of it to be revealed, of them to be caught… even accidentally (like a picture shared on social media or a comment from a friend under a post). Nevertheless, she can’t criticise his actions.

"It’s fine Max. I mean, if I’m honest, I told my best friend as well,” she smiles. “So I understand.”

This time Carlotta takes his hand, and since Jak is aware of the situation, there is no more reason to hide. On her tiptoes, the young woman steps closer and lands a sweet kiss on Max’s lips. “Here a proper _Hallo_ ,” she says against his lips.

“ _Hallo_ then,” he answers just as softly.

“Can I ask you something else?”

It takes the couple three seconds to realize Jak just talked.

“So, when you decided to be a couple,” he begins, his attention shifting only to Carlotta this time, “huh, were you…?”

Max opens his mouth but she cuts him off: “I was over eighteen, yes.”

“Okay. Great,” he claps his hands, "You both have my blessing then!”

“It’s the first time you gave me your blessing for one of my relationships,” Max notices.

“We haven't slept together yet, you know?” Carlotta adds, an arm wrapped around her Max's waist. 

“What did–” he almost chokes, with slightly pink ears, “–why did you tell him that?”

“I thought we were in the middle of a heart-to-heart conversation?”

“Yes, we were!” Jak interjects, nodding at the young woman. “Thank you Carlotta! I appreciate the trust.”

She beams happily and looks up to Max with a wink: “We have his blessing.”

“ _Super._ ”

If stares could kill, Jak would be dead by now –or at least painfully wounded. Sensing his slight annoyance, Carlotta smiles and gives him a quick peck before moving to the middle of the room.

“So let’s divide the tasks: Max, with your brilliant mind and talented hands, I give you the exciting task to assemble the IKEA couch I just bought. And—” she adds quickly, reading the look in Max’s eyes that says he wants to tell her something, “—and my unexpected guest and myself, we will take care of some boxes and put my room in order. I heard you have a natural gift for design, Jak?”

Chewing absently on the edge of his thumbnail, he nods.

“Perfect! This is exactly what my room needs!”

-

They are moving the chest drawer against the left wall by her bed, and the small polaroid picture resting upon it falls on the floor. Carlotta picks it up and smiles, looking at it as she remembers that day.

They went to _Großer Tiergarten_ park, a few days after the ‘restaurant incident’. Max texted her with the idea of a picnic, waking her up at 9:36am –which was a tiny bit too early for her– but when her eyes read the correspondent’s name, her irritated grimace turned into a bright grin.

Despite her previous complaints, Carlotta loved every moment of this casual date. Max seemed to know every nook and cranny of the park, which allowed them to find the protection of a weeping willow far from any curious eyes. Spread out on a blanket she brought, he produced a lunch of home-made sandwiches with too much Dijon, and a large avocados salad. The beers were warm but the rest tasted perfect.

There in the grass, hidden from the world by the falling long, low branches of the tree, Carlotta could not remember a happier day. Max sprawled himself across the blanket and tucked his head in her lap, silently begging for her to play with his hair while they talked, sharing their plans, desires, and fears, their most embarrassing memories or most exciting achievements. There, beneath the weeping willow, it felt like there was nothing holding them back, and no limit to the many moments they could have together.

She kissed him, on top of him as Max was still laid on his back, and his lips tasted of cheap warm beer. Carlotta decided to immortalize this perfect moment on glassy film and fished out her Fuji Instax from her purse.

_*snap*_

With her lips still curled in a sentimental smile, she carefully places the picture in a drawer. She can’t let her mind wander too far... to how the day ended, at his flat, Max lying beneath her on his couch as she had just unbuttoned her shirt, but a phone call from her agent to announce the great news of a second audition interrupted them—

“It was a terrible idea to put the chest drawer here,” Jak groans, looking at the result and taking her off her reverie. “Whose idea was it?”

“Huh, yours Jak.”

“And you listened to me?!”

Carlotta snickers and they decide to move the chest once more and make it face her bed instead. Despite it being empty of any clothes, the item is like, a bazillion pounds and the moment it finds its new place, they let out a sigh of satisfaction. As she puts back a rebellious lock of hair behind her ear, her eyes catch Jak’s expression, obviously bothered and troubled by a detail. Not a decorative one though.

“Carl, or… Carlotta?” he starts almost sheepishly, “I don’t know which one you prefer.”

“As you want. Carl is fine.”

Jak clears his throat.

“It’s just, Max is a very dear friend and—” he pauses and scrunches his face in thought, pondering over the next words. “Just …don’t mess with him. He is the kind of guy that feels _a lot._ In an intense, artistic kind of way. And he likes you. _A lot._ And I don’t want him to suffer, you know?”

The two of them look at each other during long and silent seconds. If Carlotta didn’t know better, she would feel criticised, once more condemned for her young age. However, it is not an attack against her (she could be twenty-five and Jak would say the same thing) but more of a preventive-defensive move for a friend.

She stares at him deeply. “I don’t want him to suffer, and I won’t mess with him. I want us to be happy… I want him to be happy. Happier each new second. That’s all.”

“Well, it’s already a noble purpose!” he jokes, and for a moment, he seems to struggle with what to say next. “He is happy you know? I saw him when he broke up with Sofia. And now, he… always has that kind of stupid and annoying smile on his face! I haven’t seen him like this for months.”

At the words, Carlotta has to physically fight the urge to grin wide and bright. Max is happy. _Happy with her._ She knows it, but to have such endorsement from an outside spectator hits differently. The young woman crosses arms over her chest. “Does it mean I have your blessing? Once more?”

“You have,” and he steps closer. “Look… I hope I didn’t sound too patronising or bothersome or–”

“No, no, it’s okay!” Carlotta stammers, shaking her head. “I mean; Aylin, my best friend, is planning to have the same kind of talk with Max: _“take care of her or I would kill you”_ –blah blah. So it’s fine!”

“I would love to witness that conversation.”

“I could film it for you if you want?”

They both laugh, the awkwardness gone as quickly as it appeared. Rubbing the back of his neck, Jak says. “I have to go to help your boyfriend with the IKEA problem.”

“Go save him. Oh, and you have the right to take a beer now!”

He makes his way out of the room with a wink and leaves Carlotta alone with two left boxes to unpack. The task likely won’t be completed today but her mind is still elated.

She makes him happy.

-

_“Scheiße!”_

“The beer!”

Voices bellow from the living room and Carlotta is unable to distinguish which one is Max or Jak. Hunching her shoulders, she keeps her focus on her bedroom’s shelving unit which she is filling. Her small collection of books, CDs, souvenirs from travels and many silly knick-knacks…

A few more fragments of distorted voices, and there is a rush of footsteps in the corridor leading to the bathroom that Carlotta decides to ignore.

Stepping back to look at the result, she places her hands on her hips and smiles at what she has achieved, a sense of success lingering for a few seconds. The final point of her room. A shelving impeccably arranged and ordered and so her. Perfect.

Satisfied, the young woman leaves in the direction of the living room and only finds Jak, trying to soak up a yellow and foaming liquid with a sponge. Beer.

“What happened?”

“Well, we tried to turn the seat of the couch, but it slipped from our hands and fell against the beer that was on the floor and it splashed all around,” he explains, as he moves into the kitchen to wring the saturated sponge into the sink. “But I am cleaning everything, as you can see.”

She quickly checks to make sure there are no shards of glass. “Great. My new place will smell like the last day of the _Beer Oktoberfest_ now… Where is Max?”

“Oh, he almost had a panic attack!” Now back to cleaning the (formerly intact) parquet floor, Jak laughs and Carlotta cocks her head, curious. “Beer dared to land on his precious GUESS t-shirt,” he says in a mocking tone full of fondness that only a true friend can master, “so he ran into the bathroom to clean it immediately!”

Carlotta rolls her eyes and quickly makes her way into the kitchen. By the sink, she finds the solid soap used only for emergencies involving clothes.

“ ‘m right back,” she says and walks down the corridor to the bathroom.

“Max? I have a pretty efficient organic soap from—”

She stops at the threshold, startled by the unprecedented sight right in front of her: kneeled by the bathtub, stripped to the waist, Max is busying himself with water to erase any sign of beer on his t-shirt.

“—from Marseille.”

It is only at the sound of her voice that he shuts the tap and turns to look up, and whatever Carlotta planned to say vanishes the moment he smiles at her.

 _Gorgeous,_ she thinks. She stares at him from the door, appreciates the curve of his spine, approves of the pink golden colour of his skin, admires the flex of his bicep as his arms rest on the porcelain tub’s edge… The young woman lets herself get carried away by the thought of these naked arms corded around her naked waist, as his tapered hips press into hers. She knows —the kind of inescapable knowledge that once known can never be unknown— that Max would touch her the way she wants and needs it, would make her moan sinfully as he brings her closer and closer to the edge. She knows that if she has the chance to be with him for one night, there will be no coming back…

“Carl’?”

Carlotta jumps somewhat, and blinks a countless amount of times before looking down at him. His hand is extended towards her, palm open, waiting patiently.

“… Carlotta?” Max repeats, looking more concerned this time. “Huh, your soap please?”

“Oh yeah! Yeah,” she says, walking into the damp room to give him the detergent, “here.”

_“Danke.”_

He flashes a thumbs up and turns back his attention on the cloth as he opens once more the tap.

Sneakily, Carlotta steps closer and peers over his shoulder blades to look at the striped textile: wet, under water, fingers draped into it as the bubbles soap starts to form… Max’s gestures are delicate but swift. Dexterous. She stands so close to his kneeled form now, the heat radiating from his skin meets hers. 

“This is what you’re planning to wear tonight for your Premiere?” she asks, already knowing the answer, and Max nods. “Your favourite t-shirt right?”

“Yep! I’ve had it since years… I imagine it turned into some kind of talisman now. I take great care of it!”

“Well, it doesn’t look like it,” a teasing chuckle, and her knee bumps gently into his shoulder.

Max turns and when he looks up at her, his face is serious, sincere, eyes glistening with something Carlotta can’t decipher. “I always take great care of important things.”

For unknown reasons, his words sound like a promise.

He turns off the tap and places one hand on the tub edge, the other on the floor. Carefully, he dips his head to press a feather-like kiss just above her right knee, and a breath is heaved above him.

“I will take care of you,” Max murmurs, his mouth hovering over the now moist spot on her skin.

Another light kiss above her knee, just a little higher, while his hand comes to rest around her calf. Carlotta looks down at him, a mix of curiosity and thrill slowly taking over her. As she says nothing, he kisses once more and from this angle, can watch her chest move in and out, watch her eyes fixed on his face, watch her shivering as his breath hits her delicate skin.

His mouth moves higher again, to mid-thigh, another kiss brushing the tender white flesh. Then, another. Higher. Another. Higher. And another, but this time, after the kiss, she feels the tip of his tongue right under the hem of her short shorts, tracing a line along it. The ministrations have her growing weak at the knees.

“Max,” she sighs.

At his name, he looks up through dark, hooded eyes, and his lips withdraw from her thigh after one last kiss. He gets back on his feet, and the corners of his mouth turn up in some kind of devious smile.

The new standing position gives Carlotta a better sight of the bare skin. She gulps a couple of times. “You are a very beautiful man.”

His chest is fair, well sculpted, nothing troubling its harmony, except for the necklace that always hangs around his neck. A sea of pink gold marble. Eventually, Carlotta’s eyes move down, down his torso and follow the trail of blonde hair disappearing beneath the belt of his jeans. She reaches a tentative hand out to him, to feel him, to trace the cut of his ribs and abs, to map with fingers that vein that goes below his waistband… Her hand floats in the air for a second, and starts to retreat, but Max’s fingers catch hers to guide them –yet, without pushing them down his skin.

“Touch me, if you want…” and what he means is _Touch me, please…_

The young woman gathers her nerves, and presses her palm against him, feeling his muscles shift as he stiffens. She sees him hold his breath at the contact, sees his reaction at her touch, and there’s a sudden needy throb in her belly. They are not alone in the apartment and still have work to do, and during a short instant Carlotta fights the desire to embrace him and to ravage him with fierce kisses… but the battle is already lost. Her hands cup his face and bring it down to hers.

Snaking out an arm, Max holds her waist to press her fully to his chest and their lips part. The kiss is neither slow nor tentative, but hungry, wet –needy. Carlotta’s hands slid down his naked torso, across his belly, over his hips… and she urgently wants more.

Their tongues delve into each other's mouth and the edge of the bathroom sink is suddenly pressing hard into Carlotta’s lower back. Max moves back a fraction of second, before his lips trail down her neck to latch onto a sensitive spot, forcing her to moan.

“Yes,” he whispers to her ear, “do that again,” and he takes her lips once more. The room is small and suffocating and they are not close enough and the fire in her low belly is burning hot and—

It is only when Carlotta’s legs wrap around his hips that she realises Max lifted her to place her on the sink. Then he slips a hand up her t-shirt, cupping her through her bra. It just keeps getting better, and when her hips roll against his, earning a deep groan from Max, she wants him, in an almost animalistic way. Is it what she is supposed to feel? To feel so thrilled and unsatisfied at once?

“I want you,” she mewls between wet kisses. “Here and _now.”_

They finally part to breathe, panting for air, and Max shakes his head slowly. “You don’t want it to happen in a bathroom,” he says, voice filled with repressed desire.

“I want it to happen with _you,”_ and she sucks on his bottom lip, making him sigh faintly.

Again, he is the one to break the kiss, and titters: “Not with Jak in the living room.”

This time, he has a point and she pouts, defeated. Carlotta slides off the sink, back onto her wobbly legs, and looks up at him.

“Fine…” she concedes.

“You should go first,” Max murmurs against her brow, “I’ll join you quickly.”

No need to explain his need of time to calm down, and pride is not a word strong enough to define Carlotta’ spirits at the knowledge that she is responsible for such a state. Pulling away, she smiles and arches an eyebrow. “There is a hair dryer under the sink. For your t-shirt.”

“ ‘kay. Thanks.”

She winks, opens the door, and after putting back her top in a more decent position, disappears into the corridor.

-

Contemplative, chin resting on her fists, Carlotta shrugs.

“I think it’s worth a movie of its own.”

“Oh definitely,” Jak answers, just as thoughtful. “The struggle. The suspense. The impossible conclusion!”

“Likely a thriller right? Or maybe a horror movie? There may be blood if there is a skid.”

“What about a rom-com? About the quest of harmony and the unrequited feelin–”

“Can you both shut up?!” Max hisses from the floor, cross-legged, instructions open on his lap. For almost two hours now, he didn’t cease fighting with the flat-pack piece of Swedish furniture, and if it was a boxing match, the jury would announce the (future) couch as the indisputable winner. By three splinters.

But Max doesn’t give up. Around him on the floor, laid the few tools Carlotta’s father gave to his daughter and which are, apparently, unfitting.

“I need a screw, not whatever _this_ is,” he snarls, drill in hand.

“You know my father always says there are no bad tools but only bad workers.”

“You father is wrong.”

Carlotta gasps, hand on her heart, and opens her mouth in a perfect ‘o’ to feign exaggerated outrage. “What?”

“Not that I want to pour oil on the fire,” Jak whispers with a very recognisable tone of mischief, “but… this is a good reason for a break-up right?”

The young woman nods. “Well... It might be!”

The way Max ignores them after a perfectly executed eye-roll makes clear it is not the first time he has to deal with their bullshit. His patience is remarkable, and his obstinacy even more. For the next 30 minutes he insists, certain of eventually taking advantage over the Swedish puzzle. And it finally happens.

_“Tada!”_

With hands on his hips, Max is standing proudly by the couch with such a contagious grin that the two others have to do the same. The colour of the furniture is a deep, rich raspberry, the seat over padded for better comfort. A couple of yellow pillows placed astutely highlight the red shades and Carlotta is just overjoyed and proud.

“Thank you!” she says, drawing an arm around Max's waist to snuggle him close. “It looks so pretty. Thank you for taking the time despite your event tonight.”

“My pleasure,” he answers, lips against her brow.

“Wait–” a voice makes the actor shift his attention and observes Jak reaching down to pick up a screw from the floor. “You forgot one, Max.”

“No _no_ no, I didn’t. There is always an extra one… just in case.”

“No, there is not.”

“Yes there is.”

"No."

“Give it to me,” Carlotta says to stop this conversation and walks to take the screw from Jak's hand. “I will put it in the bowl at the entrance. You know, the bowl with keys and half chewed pens and buttons and flat batteries.”

“You have that bowl too?”

“Yeah!” she answers from the door and comes back to the living room. “So? Beers?”

-

They drink a couple of beers, chatting with ease and laugh, but, as all good things must end, Max’ furtive stares on his watch become more and more insistent.

“ ‘have to go. My Premiere tonight,” he announces as he rises from the couch. “I need to take a shower at least.”

“At least,” Carlotta smirks, always the one to tease. She follows him, looking at him up and down. “What are you planning to wear?”

“I’ll let you GUESS!”

Max winks at his own joke. Carlotta rolls her eyes.

Jak doesn’t even pretend he heard the terrible pun. “I must leave your company too,” he says, putting back his phone in his jeans pocket. “Thanks for the beers Carl’.”

“And thanks for your assistance! It was very helpful,” she answers and gives him a sincere hug. Behind Jak’s back, Max flashes her a huge thumb up and grin almost maniacally. The kind of approval signal for _‘my friend likes you’_ and Carlotta imagines it’s a good thing.

The three of them walk to the front door that the young woman opens. 

“Can you give us some privacy, please?” Max asks his friend.

At that, Jak pauses, stone faced, and throws up his hands in the sky –but quickly gives in. He passes the threshold and walks into the landing to give them the discretion he asked for, but without making his annoyance audibly clear.

“Can you believe he is one of my best friends?”

Carlotta can’t help her little snort of laughter, “it seems that you are terrible at choosing the people entering your life.”

“Yeah it seems…” Max breathes and circle his arms around her waist, holding tight onto her as though they didn’t see each other for a whole month. She returns the favour, wrapping an arm around him, her other hand finding his face to drag his lips closer, and they kiss. Slow and languid. No need for rushing. Maybe his Premiere can happen without him after all?

Carlotta is the one breaking away first. “You have to prepare yourself,” she whispers against his lips, “and Jak is waiting.”

“Is this supposed to be an argument to convince me?”

She chuckles. “Thanks again for coming to help.”

“Of course. Any time,” he answers before chasing after her lips again for a peck.

A cough is heard from afar. Then a second one. Carlotta laughs once more.

“Oh the price of fame Max,” she whispers, her lips hovering over his. “See you later then.”

-  
-


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as usual THANK FOR MY GREAT BETA ♥ !!!!!!!!!!

**-**

**26 july 2025,  
Berlin, 01:17am**

_**(Part 1)** _

-

The main window of her place is open in hope of catching a breeze, but the air remains desperately heavy. Outside, a warm summer rain falls, giving short relief from the heat that clung to the city all evening. The sound of water falling and splashing in the street three floors below offers such a nice soundtrack that Carlotta doesn’t need music or TV to keep her mind busy.

She’s emptying a cardboard box in the kitchen when she hears the beep of another tweet notification and picks up her phone. A content smile spreads across her face as she reads the news.

*knock knock*

_what the f–_

It’s past 01:15am and only half a dozen people know she is there… The young woman walks to the door and, on her tip-toes, looks into the peephole. She turns the key. 

“Why are you not at your Premiere?”

“I was! I’m a professional, I did my duty very conscientiously… But I had enough. There,” Carlotta watches as a damp Max swans through the door and hands her an intact bottle of Champagne, “for your housewarming party.” 

She feels a quick peck on her lips as she reads the label – _Grand cru, Brut, 2005_ – and by the time she peers up, Max is already making his way into the entrance, removing his jacket.

“You stole it?” she asks, eyebrows raised rather inquisitively, and closes the door.

“Borrowed it!” he answers, heading to the living room. “I will offer them a new one as soon as possible.”

At that moment, Carlotta lets out a perfectly mastered sardonic snort and puts the bottle in the fridge. “Sure…”

The man doesn’t turn back at the mocking sound. Instead, he seems impossibly attracted to the Swedish couch he gave birth to a few hours ago and crashes into it with a loud and heavy sigh. On his back, Max throws one arm over his eyes to block any light, and from where Carlotta is standing, by the kitchen counter, he looks more like a jellyfish grounded on the shore than a man who just released an epic movie filmed by one of the greatest directors.

Carlotta smiles to herself. “Why did you leave the Premiere so early?”

“Why are you not sleeping?”

There is the sound of small steps getting closer to him.

“I asked first, Max.”

He removes the arm from his eyes and looks up at the young woman towering over him, arms crossed over her chest. “It was… too much for me. This movie is a disaster!”

Carlotta titters. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m a failure.”

Warmth floods her chest for the overreacting man on her couch and she laughs this time. Max may be ten years older than her but Carlotta often catches glimpses of a much younger man, boyish reactions and attitudes when it comes to his insecurities about his abilities to act or play… and she can’t help but find it utterly touching. She decides to tease him. 

“ _Oh_ look at the poor little actor who just released a fantastic movie directed by Florian Henckel von Donnersmarck! Do you want me to cry for you?”

“You are biased, Carl’.”

“What makes you believe I am?” she snarks. “You are extraordinarily talented. Fore real! One of the most brilliant actors I worked with.”

Max arches a brow, almost wounded. “o _ne of the most?”_

“Well, to be fair, I was in a series with August Diehl, so...”

A disbelieving silence, during which he ponders her words and he sighs. “...okay, I give you that one.”

“Max, look–” Fishing her phone out of her back pocket, Carlotta settles down on the couch next to him. “I follow many Instagram and Twitter accounts from critics or cinema magazines or journalists and, I read the reviews they posted about it, almost live-tweeting it, and… they all say it’s a brilliant movie! Even a masterpiece,” she explains, her finger scrolling down on the blue screen. “Oh and a journalist even wrote that you deserve a _LOLA statuette_. So yeah… I think you are overreacting just a tiny bit.”

Clearing his throat, Max straightens up on the couch to sit by her side and shrugs sheepishly. “Yeah, okay, if I’m honest… the movie is great,” he finally admits, earning a cheeky chuckle from Carlotta. His fingers find hers and bring her hand to his lips to kiss it. “It’s just -I was not my best while filming it. I guess I will always connect this movie with that moment of doubt.”

During a brief instant, she tries to remember the period he is alluding to, and it suddenly comes back: March and April, their argument, his time at Potsdam, her weeks in Los Angeles… it seems like a lifetime ago and Carlotta smiles softly.

“You can sleep on the couch if you want,” she says, squeezing his hand before letting go and standing up, “or in my bed! I’m not planning to use it.”

“Yeah? Why are you not sleeping?”

Already into the kitchen, Carlotta turns and tucks her hair behind her ears. “Look around you. Boxes, boxes, and more boxes! I can’t let this mess prosper so I can’t go to bed… and I drank a cup of coffee 30 minutes ago as well, so I won’t sleep any time soon.”

“Wait,“ he realizes only now that she is still wearing the same clothes as this afternoon, "you spent all day here?”

“Why, yes! The French roommate is coming in one week with her parents, to see the flat and visit Berlin and the university. And all these boxes are mine. I want, at least, to put some order in the kitchen. I have already done the bathroom. So now…”

Fetching the box she was previously emptying on the counter, Carlotta carries on with what she was doing as if she hasn’t been interrupted by Max’s arrival at all.

“I will give you a hand,” he offers and hastens to join her.

“If you want.”

Once reunited, Carlotta points to a smaller box with _‘fragile’_ written in big red letters. “The glasses for you. You’re taller than me so can you just, I don’t know, try to find a place for them somewhere,” she explains, gesturing imprecisely at the lockers around them, “and me, I will take care of the napkins my mother gave me.”

He nods without asking for more details and they begin their respective tasks. In the kitchen, the space is so small that when Max turns around to look for a free place, he can feel Carlotta’s hair brushing the back of his neck and the heat emanating from her whole body. They work in a comfortable silence, back-to-back, listening to the vibration of the fridge and the rain hitting the windows. It feels oddly domestic, and light-years away from the last hour he spent answering the same questions over and over or smiling in front of eager flashes or discussing the future of the cinematographic industry. It feels simple and homely, and exactly what he wants right now. Something concrete and peaceful in lovely company.

Once the last row of glasses perfectly aligned in the sideboard he’s responsible for, Max turns to ask for a new assignment but his initial intention vanishes when he sees Carlotta ordering the napkins in a very meticulous and enigmatic way. During ten, maybe twenty seconds, he observes her in silence but finds no logic behind the organisation. His curiosity is piqued. 

“What… are you doing?”

Her eyes look up at Max’s face and in the same millisecond, switch back to the napkins. “I just separate them in the usual three sections: the daily napkins for the residents; the special napkins for the guests so they have clean ones; and the napkins for emergencies! You know, like an unexpected party or water flooding, and you suddenly need napkins because you are out of floor clothes…”

Max blinks slowly, expression caught between a laugh and worry. “You’re insane.”

“Why?! Everybody does that.”

 _“No one_ does that.”

“My mom does.” 

An argument impossible to refute. Max smiles and throws his hands up in surrender: “Okay. I’ll let you handle the organisation alone then.”

“Yes please,” she replies, satisfaction on her face.

It’s late and the rain is covering any other sound coming from the streets. The weak light of the living room and the darkness of the night are painting shadows on Carlotta’s delicate features, and Max smiles, unable to take his eyes off her profile. The jut of her chin and firmness of her brow are softened by her blonde eyelashes and the very subtle smattering of freckles across her nose and cheeks. So charling. 

Yet, it feels like unspoken words hang between them… Imperceptibly, he steps closer.

“I was thinking,” Max starts softly, “we will have less time together now.”

She hums to make clear that she’s listening. 

“You, at college and your new project. Me, my many new projects and tremendous success–” Carlotta sticks out her tongue a fraction with a _‘don’t forget me when you will win your third Oscar’,_ and Max instantly dives down to kiss her neck in response, right on the spot that tickles below her ear. She giggles, a light and radiant sound, and nudges him gently with an elbow into his side to make him stop (“ _The napkins!”_ ). 

The ‘attack’ ceases as quickly as it began and Max picks up the conversation back, like nothing happened. “I mean, objectively, things are going to change.”

“We still have almost a month before college,” she answers almost immediately without ceasing her work, “and you have the right to go on vacation, you know? Oh, we should totally go to the sea together by the way!”

This time, Carlotta looks up and they are standing so close she can see the many shades of blue in his irises. He nods. “Yeah sure? One of my friends has a place by the sea… it would be the chance to meet some of them.”

She nods back at the suggestion, not against it but not over enthusiastic either. As long as Max is with her, she will be happy to go. “You’re right though Max… things will evolve but won’t change radically. I mean, _not really.”_

Drawing out the moment, Carlotta carries on the folding of the napkins, pretending she doesn’t perceive her partner’s curious gaze upon her. “It will only make the time we have together more precious,” she precises with a nonchalant shrug, “and no matter the amount of time, I will be grateful for it and be sure to enjoy every second with you.”

Max grins, quick, bright, and easy. “You’re too young to be so wise,” he says and presses a kiss to her temple, his hand brushing against the soft curve of her neck. 

The piles of napkins finally done, Carlotta places them in the three dispensers on the counter. She smiles at the result, contemplating her organisational skills for a short moment, and turns to face Max. His hand is still on the arch of her neck, just above the rim of her t-shirt, and the young woman moves closer, searching his eyes with hers. “It will still be you,” she starts, soft and low. “And still be me. Still be us. We will see each other less probably but that’s all. It won’t change what we feel for each other, or what we want…" 

She flashes him a quick smile, and averts her eyes down to her hands, both resting on the front of his t-shirt. “It won’t change what _I_ feel for you,” she adds in a whisper, “or what _I_ want.”

Gently, Max’s fingers brush against the outline of her jaw before resting under her chin so that they can look at each other. Carlotta feels her skin prickling in the wake of his touch and tastes his breath on her lips. 

“And… what do you feel for me?” he asks.

In a move almost experimental, her arms come to rest around his hips. “So many things.” 

He bends his head forward, lips hovering over her forehead. “And what do you want?”

"You.”

A small exhalation, and Carlotta’s eyes crinkle when Max looks down at her with a smile.

“You already have me” –and he means it– “What else?”

“You,” she repeats but _this time,_ she surges upwards, on her tiptoes; _this time,_ her fingers clench the back of his t-shirt to move closer; _this time,_ the answer is murmured into the space between Max’s parted lips. “You –to touch me.”

The shy way she stumbles over the words in that sweet voice of hers is enough to make Max lose his composure. Carlotta presses her chest to his, a shudder of want running through her body from crown to feet, and she licks her lips. Max’s gaze drops automatically to track the movement even in the darkness of such a late hour. 

“Are you… sure you want it?” he looks down, eyes scanning hers for any sign of hesitancy.

“ _Oh yes_ ,” she breathes, slow but certain. “Touch me. Take me, Max… make me feel good.”

“I will,” he murmurs, and she believes him and the tenderness in his voice.

Trying to keep her breath steady, Carlotta swallows. And the next thing she knows, Max is crushing his mouth against hers, holding her tight against him with strong arms around her waist. His tongue prods her lips, and she opens her mouth to him and everything that isn’t Max ceases to matter.

They kissed so many times before. But now, it feels different from the millions of sweet and deep snogs they shared over the last month. This kiss tastes of repressed yearning and coming pleasures. It tastes new. Vibrant. And delicious.

_…finally_

Always lips locked, Carlotta walks him back through her place but he stops their path somewhere in the middle of the corridor to kiss her even more. Something about how his hands are now under her t-shirt and rubbing against her low back make her knees go conspicuously weak and she moans into his mouth. 

Max takes advantage of that moment. He subsequently picks her up to carry her bridal style to her bedroom. Trying to keep kissing him at first, she tosses her head back and laughs, and is still laughing when he places her down on her bed.

“You cannot be serious about anything for more than five minutes,” she breathes as he carefully climbs over her.

“You’re about to be proved very, _very_ wrong Carl’,” Max smirks against her neck, before lapping the soft skin there.

_fuck_

And the warm knot in her belly backflips.

-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ;) be ready for next week...


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  ***** PLEASE READ ***** this is a RPF, a work of _pure fiction_ , and this chapter depicts sexual content. Again, if you are uncomfortble or dislike it, don't read. I precise this part takes place in 2025, so the couple is made of two legal adults, over the age of majority, and _very much_ consenting.  
> -  
> Okay, now, let's specify that I HATE writing smut so be indulgent and give feedbacks if it is that terrible (or is not ;D)  
> -  
> As usual THANKS TO MY LOVELY BETA who has to endure my bad writing before you guys hehe ♥ ♥

**-**

**26 july 2025,  
Berlin, same night**

_**(Part 2)** _

-

“You cannot be serious about anything for more than five minutes,” she breathes as he carefully climbs over her.

“You’re about to be proved very, _very_ wrong Carl’,” Max smirks against her neck, before lapping the soft skin there.

_fuck_

And the warm knot in her belly backflips.

In an impulsive action, she takes off her t-shirt and throws it to the ground without deference, leaving her only in a bra. Then, Carlotta is bringing his face down to hers, fingers in his hair, and pulls him closer as their lips move together –she sighs into his mouth, breathy and certain, and Max’s hand moves up to cup one of her still-covered breasts, his palm moulding around it.

A stifled sigh escapes the young woman’s mouth at the warmth she feels through the fabric of her bra, and the more he is kissing and teasing her, the more getting rid of any barrier between them moves higher on her list of priorities. Bracing on one arm, she contorts herself to remove the underwear, and falls back on the mattress with an exhalation.

When Max stares down at her, the sight strikes him. Bare-chested, lying on the mattress, hair spreading out behind her like a halo, she is absolutely stunning.

His jaw tenses, like every part of his body.

“You are a very beautiful woman,” he says, and she bites back a smile.

_woman_

“Do you want some music?” she whispers, looking up at him with a grin. “Candles maybe?”

With his weight on his left forearm to lay on the side, Max chuckles softly at her words, an echo of the ones he asked months ago. 

“The faint lights of the street are enough,” he answers and kisses her again, his right hand finding her naked breasts. As his thumb brushes over one nipple, Carlotta gasps into his mouth, the sound making the hairs on the back of Max’s neck rise. He decides to drag his lips to her throat, tongue over her pulse, sucking the spot to hear her making it again. And she does.

One after the other, he keeps teasing her rosy peaks, rolling them between his forefinger and thumb, gentle yet insistent, until they are hard beneath his touch. Then, the descent of his lips down her chest begins, tracing along her neck, her sternum, to the ticklish underside of her breasts, lapping her skin… until he finally takes one of her nipples into his mouth.

“Max–” Carlotta’s voice is soft, husky, divine. She moves her hands up to his hair, her fingers tightening in the messy strands. “Max…”, she repeats.

The knot of heat in her low belly tenses more every new second, and when his mouth find her other breast to give it the same treat, she moans.

With tongue, lips, teeth always toying with her taut nipples, his fingers tug on her belt and pops the button of her shorts. But he stops before reaching for the zipper. Every move, every new step, he seeks out those startlingly hazel eyes, waiting for her permission.

She lifts her hips, urging him on, and he peels the jeans off, only leaving plain yellow panties on her.

In turn, Max tries to kick off his shoes and maladroitly hits them off the chest of drawers with a loud thud, making a few photographs and objects upon it tremble.

A pause. And they both chuckle.

“Sorry–”

“It’s nothing,” she replies with a smile, and chases his lips for another kiss. A long, wet kiss, before he pulls away to kiss her forehead, then her cheekbones, then her chin, her nose, her jaw… butterfly touches, all sweet tenderness and heat.

Carlotta mewls beneath him –and _God help him!_ Max is never again going to be the same. His lean fingers trail down her throat, down her chest, down her stomach and come to rest against the edge of her underwear.

It’s almost embarrassing for the young woman, how much his previous ministrations have gotten to her already –she can feel she’s damp just from his kisses and touches on her breast, and knows well he can feel it too. The already red shade on her face deepens.

As if perceiving her concern, Max doesn’t remove her underwear. Instead, his palm comes to cup her mound of Venus and he starts to stroke her through the panties, digits sliding up and down her unexposed slit, teasing that little bud of nerves with his thumb.

A wave of electricity goes through Carlotta’s body. It never felt like that! No matter how hard and long she did it to herself, or when a previous boyfriend from her class tried to tickle her breast through her bra, tried to tease her through the fabric of her sweatpants… it never felt so utterly and madly and _deliciously_ breath-taking.

Max’s lips meet the rim of her ear as he whispers, “Is it okay?” and Carlotta whispers the sweetest ‘yes’ ever.

He places a soft kiss upon her glistening temple and presses deeper through the damp cotton of her panties, teasing her from top to bottom, rubbing soft circles over her clit. A whimper that doesn’t sound like her escapes her lips and her hips rock into his hand.

“ _This_ …,” she whispers in the crook of his neck and her fingers clench his still clothed back. “ _This_ is not very fair.”

Immediately, his hand freezes and he lifts his head to look at her.

“What’s wrong?”

The genuine concern in his gaze makes her smile, and she shakes her head.

“I’m talking about _this._ ” Her index points at his GUESS t-shirt.

Not to be outdone, the young woman straightens up a little despite her wobbly limbs to remove it, but her ardour dies as he withdraws from her touch.

Above her, sat back on his heels, Max strips. A part of Carlotta wants to help, to shorten the anguish –and yet, another part wants to remain still, to enjoy the show and to memorize the glorious spectacle of his chest for her _cold lone_ nights. Her eyes travel further south, beneath the belt of his pants where an evident bulge is trapped, and her breath becomes shaky at the sight. She spontaneously rubs her legs together to seek some relief, the eager throbbing between them growing fiercely.

Like in slow motion, he bends over her once more and this time she contributes. She hooks her finger around his necklace to draw him in closer, her other hand firm on his shoulder before wandering over his bare back.

With elbows on each side of the young woman’s head to hold his weight off her, his hips settle over hers, cradled between her thighs, and after all this build up, the feeling of his covered hardness touching her covered core elicits a pleasured sigh from both of them… His naked skin against hers is a revelation.

Dazed by the feeling of how soft Carlotta is beneath him, Max takes her lips once more, before kissing a trail down her jaw, her neck, and lower… He drags his teeth once more over her stiff peaks, but quickly moves from her breasts to kiss her ribcage and she laughs an instant, her skin ticklish there. Carlotta watches as he continues to nibble his way down her stomach, lapping the gentle swell surrounding her navel, running his tongue along her hip bones…

Nimbly, he slips off the edge of the bed to kneel between her legs, and his fingers hook on the waistband of her panties. Max looks up and opens his mouth to ask a question, but she anticipates the request –she lifts her hips off the bed, allowing him to slide the garment down and he tosses it on the ground.

Leaned forward, he kisses her left knee, the inside of her thigh, all the way up her leg. When he is so close that she can feel his breath on her moisture, he withdraws and does the same to the other leg. Knee. Thigh. The milky and tender skin.

“Max–” she whimpers, her hands grasping at empty air before falling on her trembling stomach.

He perks up at his name, pupils so wide that there is only a slight ring of blue around them. “Do you want me to stop?” he croons, propped up on his forearm.

_oh jesus fucking christ no_

Rather than replying, Carlotta looks down and silently shakes her head in a ‘no’.

With no further doubts, he focuses his attention to her sweet spot and begins to kiss her folds lightly to test the waters. A deep sigh is heard and she opens her mouth to say something, but just as she does, Max’s tongue flicks forward to circle her sensitive nub.

This simple motion makes her gasp and a sudden strong arm across her hips holds her still. His other hand joins his tongue, fingers sliding through her wet folds as his mouth keeps sucking the rosy nub –and the operation is rewarded with a string of profanity mixed with thirsty moans.

Carlotta feels breathless, instinctively rocking forward to receive more. It’s intense and frustrating and futile and _perfect,_ and her pleasure is building rapidly. Like a river after a storm.

“Yes,” she moans softly and her hips jerk forward at his touch. “Max, _fuck_ ….”

The sound seems to please him, and the actor growls low in his throat before attacking her more vigorously with tongue, lips and gentle teeth. At the same time, he makes slow beckoning motions with his fingers at her entrance, teasing but never coming in. Not yet.

It’s starting to become unbearable for him to keep kneeling, his erection trapped in the cotton fabric around his hips. A younger, less experienced Max would come into the bed right there and seek for his own release, but instead he presses into the bed to find a semblance of relief, and focuses on her.

Carlotta’s moans become shorter, sharper as he drives her higher and higher… Her body starts to tremble irrepressibly, her hips jerking, and a sudden knot of heat in her low belly sends a jolt of pure pleasure through her. And when Max’s fingertips start to slide through her heat to explore, her thighs close around his head.

She throws her head back and the next thing she knows, she is arching off the bed, tremors in her limbs, everything around her turning white… _Perfect._

The following seconds, Carlotta can’t move, her body ignoring the most basic of commands and she just has enough strength to place her hand against her brow as her breath slows down… Never has she been this vulnerable and exposed in front of anyone. Her whole body is sweltering, numb, her cheeks flushed, her lips swollen, her mind foggy with desire and the prospect of him. Again. And again. And again.

Max props himself up on his elbows and wipes the corners of his mouth with the back of his hand. Still panting, Carlotta can feel him crawl up her body until his hands cup her face, thumbs running over her cheekbones.

“’you okay?” he asks, and he sounds so sincere that she has to giggle weakly, a quick barking thing that she muffles with a kiss. The kiss is messy, searing, made of tongue and teeth, and Carlotta can taste herself in his mouth; his fingers are still damp against her jaw.

Her back arches, and there is just the right kind of friction between them that makes Max grunt deep in his throat.

Even in her (first ever) post-orgasmic mist, Carlotta feels he’s still hard and the fire that burns in her low belly is not tamed yet. Without stopping to kiss him, she reaches down with one hand to rub the bulge at the front of his jeans pants and his immediate answer is a moan against her lips.

Drunk on the feeling of his need for her, she moves her fingers to his belt, unbuckling it and then pulling down the zipper of his jeans. His Levis gone at last, her hands fall on his ass, dipping under the boxers to rest against his warm skin.

“Carl–” Max gasps, pulling his covered hips back to snap them forward against her, making her moan. “Carlotta…” he breathes again, and her name has never sounded so good –in a broken, husky voice that makes her want to kiss him absolutely senseless– “…do you have anything?”

_oh, that._ How unfair that he must ask her where anything is (especially something she never used) in her eager haze.

“Somewhere…,” she says to help, and flails in the general direction of a cardboard-box by her open door. “Maybe in a box by the bathroom. I just don’t kn–”

“One second,” Max says, and quickly dashes out of the bedroom, which is both one of the most hilarious and sexy things that she has possibly ever seen. She hears his footsteps into the living room and he comes back with his wallet, from which he fishes out three condoms triumphantly .

She can’t help but titter as he deposits two on her nightstand and keeps one: “You totally planned this night.”

He sits on the edge of the bed, his back to her, and says above his shoulder: “Like the Boys-Scouts: Be prepared!”

Too swiftly, he takes off his boxers and there is the sound of a foil wrapper being open. Carlotta straightens up on the mattress. “Wait I–” she starts, almost sheepishly as she joins his side, and the words make him stop to look at her. “…I can help.”

After a quick nod from him, she extends one hand to his crotch and brushes the shaft of his manhood. The condom is already rolled mid-length, and when her nimble fingers slide it down fully to the base, a gasp spills from Max’s throat.

There is something extremely gratifying about witnessing him biting his bottom lip and closing his eyes in pleasure. Enjoying the sensation of being able to make him feel that way, Carlotta decides to do it again and she begins to stroke him up and down. Gently. Slowly. Torturously.

_“Scheiße,_ Carl–” he sputters out under his shaky breath. “I…”

The next sound escaping him is a low moan of contentment and it ignites a fire in Carlotta’s belly unlike anything she has ever experienced. She continues her ministrations, taking in all of the man’s reactions, and whispers to his ears: “You like that?”

Without any hesitation, Max grabs her face and yanks her in close, sealing their lips together in a kiss full of passion. As he pushes her back into the mattress, the young woman’s heart speeds up, beating almost painfully against her breast. Everything is happening too quickly and yet, not fast enough. She is losing all her senses.

When Carlotta looks up, Max’s blue eyes are almost wild as they lock with hers, and he moves to lie atop her trembling body, his waist nestling between eagerly parted legs. His throat rumbles as she raises her hips up to meet his, the tip of his length brushing deliciously against her opening. She wants more. Wants him. Fully.

“Please,” she breathes, clung to him with every part of her. “I want you.”

Yet, Max inches back.

“Wait…” he breathes against her lips.

A frown, and then Carlotta’s eyes darken and dilate when she sees him bring two fingers up to his mouth and copiously wet them. One hand holding his weight off her, Max snakes the other one down between them to find her damp folds. With care, his slick fingers spread her, and he slides one into her.

A gasp escapes the young woman, and Max’s eyes never leave her face. He adds a second finger and the open moan that results from the new intrusion is exactly what he wanted to hear. She wraps her arms so tightly around his neck that he has to breathe through her hair.

“You like that?” Max asks into her ear with admirable self-control.

A thin sheen of sweat forms on her brow, and Carlotta nods as his fingers keep sliding in and out. Max wants her wet and ready, wants her to feel only pleasure from their first night – _her first night._

“Enough teasing…,” her lips move against his cheek, “… ‘want you. Now.”

When his fingers leave her, there is a soft whimper, and that noise makes Max feel more than a little crazy. He grabs hold of her waist and begins to align himself with her heat. 

“ ‘want you too,” he gasps at the sensation of her hips stuttering, eager.

“Yes,” Carlotta answers, and kisses him. “now…”

He pushes into her slowly and groans. She is slick and tight and exquisite around him, the sensation enough to make him want to yelp. The young woman pants into his shoulder and he forces himself to slow down.

“Go on,” she requests against his skin, after a few beats. And he does as she asks.

Once he fills her completely he stops, breathing hard with the effort to control himself to give her time to adjust. Her eyes are shut, arms tightened around his chest, mouth open, panting hard… Yet, she feels no pain at the intrusion –at the most, a slightly uncomfortable burn.

Max runs a hand up to cup her face. “ ‘you alright?”

She nods, but can do nothing more than clench and unclench her hands on his bare back.

“I’m going to need you to talk,” Max breathes, immobile above her, thumbing at her cheek with impossible tenderness. At the touch, she opens her eyes and sighs.

“It’s good–” Carlotta murmurs beneath him, and he searches during seconds for any hint that she’s not telling the truth. She pushes herself further on his length, driving him to move. Impatient. “… please Max, –move.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice. With a growl, he pulls almost all the way out of her and thrusts into her again, keeping the motions slow and easy, not to jar the pliant body beneath him.

Carlotta makes soft gasping sounds, and she rocks her hips back against his, finding her own pace. Maybe she is a bit out of line, hesitation and inexperience in her motions, but her fervour and enthusiasm counterbalance that. Her hips roll clumsily against his once more, creating an unintentional change of angle that makes Max groan.

“Fuck…” he gasps, “ ‘s good.”

He whispers things into her ear, phrases like “I want you” or “you’re so beautiful” or “you feel amazing”, but she finds herself only half paying attention, distracted as she is by his body over hers, settling between her legs, grinding against her, filling her in the most perfect way.

It feels so good. _They_ feel so good. And any discomfort she may have felt before is long gone. 

“‘s good _yes_ …” Carlotta moans as he rocks back out of her, moments before pulsing forward and driving in with strength, his cadence speeding up with each thrust. She raises her legs, hooking her feet around his waist, and pulls him in deeper. “–yes, more…”

He has to bite the inside of his cheek to hold himself back, and instead seals their mouths together. Leaning his weight on just one arm, he slides a hand between them, just above their connection, and finds her swollen nub. His fingers start rubbing it gently, at first. Then harder.

Carlotta gasps into his mouth. The kiss deepens, their noses brushing, teeth clicking, and for a moment, it seems like she is deliciously suffocating. Lips, skin, tongue, moans, him… she is drowning in pure –and new– pleasure. As if clinging to a life belt, her nails dig into his shoulders, just enough to make him hiss, and their lips part.

“Max, I’m–”

“I know,” he gasps, brow pressed against hers as he punctuates each word with a firm thrust, “me too… you feel so good.”

The sound of their skin slapping fills the room, and Max changes the angle and pace, driving down hard and fast, while all along, his dexterous fingers keep scissoring the rosy, sensitive pearl between them.

Carlotta’s legs tighten around his waist. “Oh _Scheiße_ , Max–”

She is so close. Heat builds up in her and she can feel the rest of the world fading away into the background as the crest of her climax rises. Then, suddenly, he’s hitting just the right spot, and she’s arching off the bed, body clamping down over him. Her vision narrows and… _she’s seeing stars!_

Her legs muscles convulse, Max’s name falling, broken, from her lips, and she can feel her inner walls grasping at his length. That is enough to finally drive Max over the edge. He screws his eyes shut and ducks his head down, in the crock of her neck, seeking for his own release.

In her (second) post-orgasmic haze, Carlotta is just barely aware of his hips stuttering, and after one final prodigious thrust, he collapses on top of her with the most animalistic growl she had ever heard.

Her hands become gentler on his shoulders, sliding up into his hair as his head rests against her neck, their bodies trembling. After an indeterminate moment, Max props himself up on his elbows to look into her eyes. Their gazes lock, each studying the other. Sweat-slick strands of hair cling to Carlotta’s temples and he gently pushes them away.

They lay there for a while, in a warm and sated knot of sweaty skin, until he slips out of her, and deals with the condom.

When Max returns to the bed, she is still on her back, eyes closed, and he curls up on his side to look at her profile, not touching but close enough to see her eyelashes moving because of his own breath. Max stretches out a hand to take hers, and their fingers link on the mattress. A perfect instant of quietude. 

Somewhere in the distance, a _polizei_ siren wails. Carlotta blinks her eyes open and turns them to Max, brow raised in amusement. 

She winks. “They’re coming for you.”

“No officer, she’s eighteen! And she forced me!” he answers back with a smirk, the kind of smirk he brings out when he’s attempting to be deliberately seductive –and he succeeds, as always. “But just in case, maybe I should jump naked out of this window?” 

“Oh I would love to see that,” she laughs and then stares back up at the ceiling. 

Both their hearts are still pounding fast, but the moment is peaceful, just the two of them enjoying each other’s company, close, vulnerable and trusting. Carlotta is the first to break the silence with her curiosity.

“Is it always like that?”

It takes Max two seconds to connect the dots. “Huh, that depends on the mood I guess. Or the situation. Or the partner. Or, even the time you have…”

She hums at his response. She has no idea what was the mood tonight or the time it took, but she knows without a doubt that she could easily get used to such exertions with this specific partner of hers. 

“How do you feel?” he asks. 

Breathing in the smell of home and contentment, Carlotta turns her face, looks into his eyes and smiles. “Very good.”

Max nods. “Did –I hurt you?” 

The question comes with a clench of his jaw, as if he’s preparing himself to get up and get the first aid kit. Carlotta shifts on her side, mirroring his position, and shakes her head. “No,” she breathes, squeezing his hand with hers. “And… what about you?” 

Her words make him frown in confusion. Eyes on their linked fingers, the young woman ducks her head: “I mean, it was my first time, so I have no experience of what to do and I basically did nothing. While you, you have… huh, was it boring? How was it for you–”

“Good,” he cuts her off, “it was very good.”

She looks back up to catch his eyes and beams. “Good.”

In a brief instance of distraction during which Max gazes at her smile, Carlotta manages to reduce the distance between them. Both hands on his shoulder, she pushes him flat on his back, and crosses her arms above his chest, propping up her chin. Their skins are still sweaty and hot, evidences of what they did clung to their bodies and all over the bedroom floor… but Carlotta doesn’t mind. She cocks her head.

“Do you know what I want now?”

“Just… give me two minutes, and I’m all yours,” he rasps as his fingers run unwittingly in her golden locks.

A laugh and she crawls up to kiss him. “Not that,” she says above his lips. “No, I want to open that bottle of Champagne you stole!”

With elegance, she jumps off the bed, naked, her hair cascading down her back, and Botticelli’s Venus looks like a pale counterfeit in comparison to such a sight. By the door lays his GUESS t-shirt, carelessly thrown in the middle of passion, and Carlotta picks it up.

“I’ll come back with two glasses,” she says with a wink and disappears behind the door.

Now alone, Max stares up at the ceiling, both hands on his stomach. The last few minutes are playing on loop in his brain, making his heartbeat fasten imperceptibly. The taste of her skin, the little noises coming out of her, that clouded look in her eyes when he touched her the way she liked it, her legs tight around his waist as he pressed deeper… Vivid and fresh memories that certainly will accompany him for years, and that are quickly affecting him. 

Max breathes deeply and rubs the heels of his palms into his eyes. During months –he prefers to think in months than years when it comes to Carlotta– he restrained this need of her that bordered sometimes on thirst, trying to justify distance with a girlfriend, with a so-called moral, with the excuse of their shared past as colleague… but the obvious truth finally hit him hard on the face. He wanted her, wants her, and likely will want her for a very, _very_ long time. The acceptance of this fact feels like a relief.

_“Max!”_ A call from the kitchen. “I can’t find the glasses! Where did you put them?!”

He smiles. With a sigh, the man leaves the bed and pulls his pants back on. He walks down the small corridor, and stops at the entrance of the kitchen.

There, in the middle of a mess of boxes and dishes and napkins, Carlotta stands in his oversized t-shirt. The golden hair, the bare legs, the French bottle in one hand, a Simpsons’ mug in the other and the rousing fact that there is nothing between her skin and his t-shirt… Max gulps.

She turns and gives him that devastating smile. “I only found my coffee mug but we can’t decently drink this tasteful beverage in a Simpsons’ mug. We are not depraved monsters!”

_she’s almost unaware of it,_ Max thinks, _just how stunning she is._ His stomach clenches.

Quickly, he enters the kitchen to stand in front of her, barely a foot away. Max takes the mug from her hand as if declining the invitation to drink, and places it on the kitchen-counter.

“Wait–” Carlotta tries to argue when he later takes the Champagne from her other hand and sets it down by the mug, “Max, I was joking. We can drink directly from the bottl–”

Whatever she is about to say is lost when his lips slant over hers, and in the same second, her fingers go through his dark blonde hair to pull his face closer to hers. Their tongues find each other, easily, and he pushes her body up against the cabinets, making a gasp escape Carlotta’s throat. Each one of his gestures reveals his care and tenderness for her, but this time, the courtesy is gone, urgency taking over –the urgency of a man who doesn’t know how long he’ll have the precious treasure in his grasp. 

Max groans, hitching Carlotta up so she’s now half-sitting on the counter, legs wrapping loosely around his hips. His hands find the base of the t-shirt she is wearing, lifting it up so his palm can slide down across the smooth skin of her low-back to the curve of her ass… Their mouths part and Max’s lips withdraw to kiss her jaw, down to her neck, sucking her pulse in what will definitely turn into a hickey in the morning. Carlotta’s hips rock forward and she can feel his hardness growing between them.

“Are the two minutes already over?” she asks, breathless. 

Instead of an answer, Max lifts her off the counter, his arms cradling her backside as she wraps her legs around his waist. He guides her through the shadow-swept kitchen as they kiss again–

“Hold on,” she says against his lips, and he freezes on the spot. “We almost forgot the Champagne.”

With a grin, Max steps back to let her grab the french alcohol. “Almost.”

Once the bottle’s neck is in her hand, Carlotta drapes her arms over his shoulders, partially shutting her eyes so she can keep staring at the gorgeous man carrying her.

In a corridor lit only by the golden glow of street lanterns through the windows, Max leads them back to her room. But once inside, he stumbles in the dark, kneecaps colliding with one of the legs of her bed, and they both collapse into the mattress, a whirlwind of tangled limbs.

_“Scheiße!”_ he shouts. Carlotta laughs.

-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> don't forget, comment and kudos are love ♥


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> after the sexy chapter, here a long part with just fluff and cuteness and them being in relationship and happy because this is want they deserve!  
> so, the plot is quite nonexistent, a sort of happy filler-episode. but if you are observant enough, you can catch some hints of what is coming next time...
> 
> AGAIN, thanks to my very patient and wonderful BETA ♥♥

**_-_ **

**_23 August 2025,  
Rostock_ **

-

“Carlotta?–”

Her eyes rise from the magazine in her right hand, the other one laid on her bare stomach, skin all out in broad daylight while lounging on the beach.

“–you will keep acting, even in college?”

Kriss is curious and pretty and one of Max’s friends, the one precious friend with a half-brother owning a holiday-home near Rostock. The sky is so clear on this hot August day that they can distinguish Denmark’s coasts from where they’re lying on their towels. 

“Yeah, of course,” Carlotta turns to face Kriss and squints her eyes because of the sun. “I mean, I hope to!”

“Some projects maybe?”

“Well, I want to be a good student first,” she smiles and digs her toes into the sand, watching it mask the blue of her nail polish, “There is a tv-movie project for november or december, but it’s a small part… Oh and I would love to do more plays, more live-acting. It is planned in my course of study!”

The brunette nods, and Carlotta enjoys the genuine interest on her face.

 _It is a test,_ she thinks. Not this specific conversation, but the three-days-long weekend in the company of Max’s friends. Of course he told her that there will be no pressure, that they are all great and super nice, and so far, they truly are. But Carlotta knows well that they likely discuss her when it’s just the three of them, talk about her age and her situation, compare her with Max’s previous paramours… and she really doesn’t want to fail the exam –but she doesn’t want to pretend to be someone else either. Diplomacy is nice but exhausting. She prefers to remain true to herself.

“And you? Max said that you have your own shop or–?”

“Oh no!” Kriss cuts her off with a smile as she turns onto her stomach to get the same tan, back and front. “I just work in a shop. A fashion shop. Unique and vintage pieces.” Carlotta’s eyebrows curl with curiosity at her words. “You should come one day. If you have an event and need an unique gown.”

“Oh really? Thanks, sure… I would love that!”

“Red is you color,” Kriss points at the swimsuit the young actress is wearing, a red-cherries pattern bikini. “It suits you. I imagine a beautiful red sheath dress would bring out the colour of your hair.”

“ _Danke._ My mother always says that blue suits me more… probably because of my eyes.”

“That’s a common mistake,” she states, putting sunglasses on her nose, “actually, you should focus more on the complexion and colouring of your skin. And by your natural shades, red is your color.”

“Well, then if you’re right…” Carlotta extends her hand to grab the straw hat and the sunscreen she brought, and winks, “and I am sure you are! –we should protect our very beautiful complexion!” 

Kriss giggles.

~

“What are you reading?” Max asks as he leans down to kiss her lips. 

Carlotta is sitting comfortably by the widow in her knickers, avoiding the sun after too many hours on the sand. She left Max and his friends on the beach –they didn’t need her for a two-against-two– and came back to the house all by herself. 

Looking up, she returns the peck and tastes the salt on his lips before focusing back on her pages. “I found it under the coffee table. Probably something forgotten by a child,” she says and lifts the book’s cover to show an english title: _The Life and Times of Scrooge McDuck._ “Dagobert. Not the French King though… The duck. _Onkel Dagobert._ ”

There is a laugh from Max. Not a condescending nor a mocking one, but a laugh of surprise and awe for the versatility of her interests. He smirks in that way he does when he’s really pleased by something, and his cheeks are pink from the sun. He kisses her once more, this time soft and deep, and her fingers slide into his damp hair.

"I hope we don’t interrupt!”

Perfect timing. The main door opens and familiar voices come inside without regard for the couple, the three friends getting rid of the towels, parasol, hats, bags and other accessories on the table.

“Not at all…” Max answers, trying his best to sound cross but fully aware that he doesn’t.

“And I’m just reading something,” Carlotta adds, amused.

“I was just about to have a beer,” he half-lies and the suggestion gathers a collegial endorsement from the rest of the group. He steps into the kitchen to open the fridge door and disappears behind it. “Who wants one?”

Manuel shakes his head in silence and Kriss nods. “One for me please.”

“Same for me!” Jak adds, and he moves to sit by Carlotta. “You?”

“No, thanks. Maybe later.”

Over her shoulder, the man leans and recognizes the ducks. “Hmm. Which one?”

“A Don Rosa one.”

The answer makes the wheels turn in Jak’s brain. “What episode?”

“The one with the Library of Alexandria." 

And his eyes lighten up, bright and interested. "No way?! My fave!” he carries on, this time focusing more on the pages to see her progress. Carlotta smiles.

“There, your beer,” Max hands Jak his requested bottle, towering over the two readers, and coughs when his friend doesn’t even give him a _danke._ “What are you two talking about?”

“The Junior Woodchucks,” Carlotta replies, eyes on the comic strips before raising them up to peer at Max. “Did you know that they are actually the guardians of the Great Library?”

“The Great Library? Like… the one that burned? Alexandria?” he says, quite proud of himself to have kept such useless information in his memory years after highschool. “How so?”

“That’s the mystery!”

Cheekily, Jak shrugs. “You will have to read it, like the rest of us. Oh, and Carl-” his attention shifts on the young woman, “-did you know that in each first frame of a Don Rosa’s story there is-”

“-a hidden duck?” she nods with slight smugness. “Yep! I know!”

The conversation taking a road far beyond his limited knowledge on ducks, Max decides to move back into the kitchen and join Manuel and Kriss cleaning the mess they brought back from the beach. "Your beer Kriss,” he says and his friend takes it.

“Thanks. Huh, Max?”

He hums in response. The brunette then quickly glances at the young actress by the window before staring back at him, and the action makes Max worry for a millisecond. Kriss smiles. “She’s great.”

He does his best to act nonchalant. “Of course she is!" 

* * *

**_15 September 2025,  
Berlin_ **

-

There are leaves on the trees, and the late summer blooms are dark and dull. Max is waiting for Carlotta –an usual event– outside the experimental movie theatre _Neues Off_ , which is making an Orson Wells retrospective. Tonight : _The Third man._

It’ll be their first real date since she started college; Max didn’t want to bother her during her final move in, giving her the time and space she needed with her new roommates and new schedule, and Carlotta called him a couple of days ago, voice happy and flushed with success and pride. Some tales of acting classes and composition echoed down the phone, and he listened, mostly in silence, letting her live her triumph alone.

As he stands waiting, some people are recognizing him and he ensconces the cap on his head more. Hurried footsteps are heard behind him, and Max identifies Carlotta’s guilty words before they tumble forth. He cuts her off with a warm smile and bear hug.

 _“Hallo_ Max,” she breathes to his ear, arms circling around him. 

_"Hallo_ Carl,” he replies and breathes in her unique perfume, a mix of gardenias and lavender shampoo. God…. he thinks, since when is one week that long? Ignoring the way Carlotta presses herself against him, he (regrettably) pulls away, fighting the need to kiss her. “The movie will start, let’s go get ins—”

“Is it okay for friends to kiss?”

The question makes him pause on the theatre’s front steps. “On the cheeks or on the lips?" 

“I mean, as we must be discreet, we can act as just two friends hanging out, so what about… kissing, on the lips? With tongues?” Carlotta asks softly, and puts the hint of a teasing into her smile for good measure. “Friends do that, right?”

“I... don't think so,” Max grins back and shrugs. “We and our Protestant puritanism.”

The young woman smiles, her head tilting back just slightly, and he has a fleeting thought about how gorgeous she is. The blood beats in Max’s ears and he can no longer wait to be in the darkness of the projection room with her. 

After the purchase of tickets, they make their way into the theatre. The audience is scattered but diverse, and they sit somewhere in the back, away from prying eyes. Within the few minutes before the start of the movie, they chat about Max’s coming project, an european mini-series about the Roaring Twenties, and Carlotta’ success with her last audition. They talk, they laugh, they hold hands, and the light dims. 

The movie is pretty good for a 70 years old story, Max concedes. But after forty-five minutes of old Vienna and multi-language subtitles, his attention abandons the black & white screen for the pink lips by his side. The last clear picture he catches from the movie is Orson Wells heading to a funfair, and for the next half-hour, the only thing that exists is Carlottas’s taste laying on his tongue and the warmth of her skin as his hands find the base of her spine.

They kiss, slow and sensual –and will likely skip the restaurant and go straight to his place.

* * *

**_2 October 2025,  
Berlin_ **

-

In the morning, after a night spent in the same bed, Max wakes up first as usual, and watches her: her eyelashes casting delicate shadows on her skin, the shiny lips, the soft breathing, the sensation of her warm body snuggling against him…

Carefully he touches her cheek with the tips of his fingers and Carlotta opens her eyes, stretching like a lazy cat. A vision of delight.

He can’t deny that the secrecy of it all has its own appeal—being together is like being in their own little world, without any of the worries of their daily lives. And the hidden nature of what they are doing adds a certain excitement to their trysts.

If Max is truly honest, he feared at first that they wouldn’t get far as a couple, feared that the excitement of the beginning, of the discovery, of the secrecy would diminish after three weeks. But that day didn’t come, and the three weeks stretched into a month, which bled through to autumn, easing its way slowly to winter, and still, they are together. Everyday, Max awakens, happy for the fact that they are a couple, and the days he awakens by her side, he crawls into bed next to her, breathes in her perfume and nuzzles her golden mane. If there is an expiration date, he doesn’t see it anywhere near in their future. For _he wants her_.

Max is greedy, and selfish when it comes to Carlotta. He wants to know everything. Wants to experience everything. Wants to have everything, in all seasons and at all times of the day. 

He bends to kiss her, and she returns the kiss, avidly.

* * *

**_10 november 2025,  
Berlin_ **

-

Carlotta snaps out of her thoughts when her laptop screen goes dark. She taps the screen to wake it up and stares at the text she typed. Nothing original or groundbreaking. How can she, when the play she has _‘to dissect and recreate all over again to be unique’_ as her professor requested, is the most famous play in history: _The Most Excellent and Lamentable Tragedy of Romeo and Juliet._

A long and noisy sigh. She throws her laptop onto the pillow by her side and rubs her eyes with the back of her wrists.The young woman is sitting on the floor, cross legged by the coffee table, and when she reaches up to grab the paper version of the play, her hand finds nothing but a strong shoulder. That definitely isn’t her book. She peers up and sees Max laid on the couch, reading the drama. He has been so quiet during the last hour that she almost forgot his presence.

After two hours of deep (and unsuccessful) thinking, Carlotta feels the need for a break. Her back leans against the couch’s edge and she observes her man.

“Anything interesting?”

“Romeo is excessively impulsive in my opinion. And they are both very stupid teenagers,” he says as he props the book open on his stomach to look at her, “but I guess this is what love turns us all into.”

 _i guess…,_ she thinks, and frowns at that. 

Being corny –and not really at ease with the adjective– Carlotta always thought she would know when she would be in love. These last months, happiness and harmony have been her daily treat, nurtured by the delicious passion they mutually share, and every facet of Max’s personality, from his caring warmth to his abrasive teasing are incontestably attractive.

But is it love? Could it be, or is it just deep fondness? How could she guess? The only people she has ever told ‘I love you’ are members of her family –her previous boyfriends never earning such a confession. Maybe her lack of meaningful experiences finally shows its limitations? Carlotta still doesn’t know how to put what she feels into words or how to handle it, but she figures the only way to find out is to keep spending precious time together, and to wait and see. No pressure.

With her thoughts now in some semblance of order, her fingers find his left hand and bring it to her lips to kiss it. Max grins softly at her and she returns the smile quickly. 

“Okay I have to ask but,” he pauses, his other hand opening the book to a page previously dog-eared, “are my eyes unreliable, or did you cross some lines in Shakespeare’s work? Did you edit it?”

“Only for improvement, I assure you.” Carlotta crosses her arms on the seat of the couch, just by his shoulder, and observes the aforesaid page.The fact that Max is able to read her annotations amazes her, her handwriting always unintelligible to everyone but herself. “So, where are you?”

“Act 4. When Friar Laurent offers Juliet a potion to feign death. But things will move quickly and soon they will—”

“Spoilers!” she shouts, feigning ignorance.

“—they will all die in a nuclear explosion.”

Carlotta laughs. Moving up, she kisses his brow and sits on the couch, forcing Max to sit straight up for lack of space. Now side by side, her head finds its spot to rest on his shoulder and she snuggles down further into the yellow pillows. A quick glance at the alarm clock by the TV tells her her roommates will be back soon.

“So, this is the play your class will perform at the end of the year?” Max asks. 

“Yeah,” she nods, settling more comfortably against him, “our professor thinks it’s in the classic pieces that we find ourself, because we have to bring something very personal to make it unique and different.”

“Okay.” Max shifts slightly, his legs kicked up on the coffee table, and looks at the woman by his side, her cheek pressed against his shoulder. “Who do you want to be then? Juliet?” Carlotta shrugs, giving him another chance to guess. “Or maybe Rosaline?”

“No, I want to be—” she stops herself, and her fingers fidget with his, toying with his irremovable silver ring. “This is stupid, it’s just…I would love to play Mercutio.”

“You would be a great Mercutio.”

Carlotta’s eyebrows shoot up. “You think?”

“I do.”

And a slow, impish grin curves the corners of her lips. 

“Thanks,” although the smile fades a bit, “but I guess there will be a problem with what I have, or more precisely, _what I don’t have_ … The three pieces package,” she precises, alluding to her gender. “The problem is the middle of my legs.” 

“Why?” he asks, a wicked inflection in his voice, “the middle of your legs is a delight.” 

“Oh shut up!” she squints up at him, her cheeks growing rosy with indignation. “How old are you? Twelve?!”

“And half!” he sniggers, pleased with himself, as he always is when he says something that affects her so. The swat to his side is almost to be expected, as is the small smile on Carlotta’s lips that’s growing. She grabs the pillow next to her and whacks Max hard across the face. He doesn’t even attempt to protect himself and instead reaches for her to pull her back in tight. 

“You are supposed to be the mature one!” She twists to avoid the noisy kisses he presses to her face and neck.

“Wait! Okay, okay! Carl’,” he tries to make her look at him between fits of laughter, “in all sincerity, you would be fantastic as Mercutio!” 

Eventually, Carlotta’s pout and protests soften, and she starts to give up her pretense of anger. Her chin raises up, wanting to hear more. “Go on.”

Max smirks, arms curled around her waist. “You are talented and committed and hard-working. And, let’s be honest, no one cares about gender now. If I remember right, it happened before for many Shakespeare’s plays. Like for example, Richard II, the title role was played by an actress, and it was a success. You can be Mercutio! And actually, as your teacher wants originality, it would be original to see Romeo’s bff being a woman.”

He kisses her nose and her whole face transforms into a brilliant grin. “So I repeat it again,” Max breathes against her cheek, “you will be a great Mercutio.”

“Yeah, that’s true!” she beams, charmed by his words but more by his tone, sincere as always. After their little fight, their limbs are still tangled on the sofa, bodies half-lying, and Carlotta’s hand comes up to brush his jaw.

“You’re sweet,” her lips hover over his, “you’re an idiot…but you’re sweet.”

* * *

**_28 november 2025,  
Berlin_ **

-

"Your flatmates will hear us,” Max breathes after she lets out an indecent moan. “Don’t want another breakfast interrogation…”

She chuckles and bends down to kiss him, bringing her hands on each side of his face, and a curtain of blonde hair isolates them from the rest of the world. They kiss, long and wet, and his hands slide down Carlotta’s sweaty back to cup her ass. On any other night of the week, they’d be asleep at this time —she has classes tomorrow and he would have spent the night at his place— but Max is leaving tomorrow for the next four weeks on an international project… They decided to make every second count.

Carlotta is straddling him, covering his body with hers, wanting every inch of her skin to be in contact with his and he loops arms behind her back to hold her tight. He rocks his hips up, meeting each of her thrusts, driving himself harder and deeper into her body, and she gasps out against his lips.

 _“Scheiße,_ Max… ‘tis good.”

With a huff, Carlotta straightens up on him. She reaches with her hands behind her to his knees, and arches her back, swaying her hips in the most perfect way. Max’s hands grip them tight, surely leaving faint bruises in the morning.

A deep groan is pushed out from him as she picks up her tempo. He is looking at her, riding him, and she is a vision of pure beauty: light hazel irises disappearing behind dilated pupils ; pink, swollen lips parted in pure ecstasy ; golden hair falling over her shoulders like waterfall ; breasts shining with the glimmer of sweat…

He sits up, his arms coiling around her waist, and her fingers knit in his hair.

“ 'u amazing Carl,” Max breathes into her throat and seals his lips over the white skin, laving her neck with tongue, “so beautiful.”

And when he starts to suck, she gasps -and rides him harder -and moans louder…

There will definitely be another interrogation breakfast tomorrow.

* * *

**_24 December 2025,  
Hamburg_ **

-

“‘Need help?”

“Why yes, could you prepare the salmon please?”

Carlotta nods. “Sure mama.”

She grabs the slices of salmon from the fridge and places them on the countertop to prepare a tray. It’s just another family gathering, a Christmas dinner at her grandparents’ house with uncles and aunts and cousins she hasn't seen since last year. It started with the usual embarrassing questions ( _what about your classes? and do you have plans for the future? acting is not a real career you know? are you still single?_ ) and went on with the familiar stories. So when her father began to recount the tale of a boat trip on the _Müritz lake_ like every year, Carlotta decided to join her mother in the kitchen to give her a hand. 

Carefully, the young woman begins to cut a lemon to season the fish. 

“You know; I wanted to tell you, huh–” she says quietly, as if not wanting to draw attention on her, “I have someone. A boyfriend. I mean, a significant other, as people say nowadays.”

Uncharacteristically, her mother doesn’t react to the news, and keeps working on the cold meats toasts. Then, after long seconds: “I knew you had someone,” she eventually answers, “I am not blind. And I’m your mother.”

Carlotta shrugs. “Okay?”

“And, how is it going on?”

There her mother is.

“Oh perfect! Really!” The answer comes so easily that it must be true. “Everything is great. He is kind, funny, smart… stunning!” 

She can’t help but smile while enumerating the facts and her mother glances up with an approving nod. Things with her mother are always easy, unfiltered conversations and trust, probably because of the many years as a teen actress where her presence never left her and during which she has been her only confidant. Carlotta props herself on her mother’s side and looks at her with insistence, a move that makes the older woman turn her face and scan her daughter’s in silence.

“Sweetie, is there something else you want to tell me?”

The younger woman peers down at the lemon and the knife between her fingers. “Well yeah–”

“You’re pregnant!”

Carlotta’s eyes almost bug out their orbits. “Oh my God, _no!_ No! No no no no,” she can’t stop repeating the word, hand above heart that skipped a few beats. _“No._ God, no. It’s… well, good job mama because whatever I’m going to say now will be a relief to you!” 

Both women laugh. 

“No, it’s just… he is just a tiny little bit older than me.”

“And how much older?”

All the bravado Carlotta had ever developed over her ability to feign emotion with ease leaves her in a huff at her mother’s interrogation. Her mouth works open and closed, and she frowns in thought. At the sight, the matriarch decides to help: “Five years?” 

Carlotta shakes her head and motions her thumb up, indicating a bigger number.

“Hm, eight years?”

She shakes her head again, thumb up.

“Twenty?!”

“Mama!”

“What? You would not be the first student to date a professor,” she says, nonchalantly.

The older woman spent her entire life in pure self control, never one to lose her composure. And once again, she remains imperturbable while talking about her daughter’ sex life, dexterous fingers working on toasts, as if having a casual conversation about a book she just read. It makes Carlotta speculate about the remark regarding the professor. Did her mother… _well, this will be for another time!_

“No, he is not a professor from my college,” she explains, “actually, he is an actor, like me. And…he is ten years older.”

“Ten years?”

“And a few months. But,” she immediately adds when her mother opens the mouth to speak, “but, believe me, he is perfect.”

There is a pause, both women processing the information, eyes fixed on each other’s face.

“Okay sweetie, if you say so. And since when?”

“Huh,” Carlotta hesitates, unsure if their first kiss could count, and decides to half-lie, for her mother’s sake. “Late June. So, six months from now.”

Not even looking up as her brother enters the kitchen, she places the last slices of lemon and bumps her shoulder into her mother’s. They exchange a smile before the older woman falls quiet; until; “He is not just a flirt, like your previous boyfriends, then? He is… significant?”

Her daughter nods, tucking her hair behind her ears. Significant yes, she thinks. A boyfriend. A fantastic partner. A sweet companion... so many labels, yet one she is still unsure to use yet.

“Does he treat you right?”

“Oh yeah! He treats me… like a Queen.”

“Good. Because that is what you are.”

Behind them, Valentin snorts. After years in his company, Carlotta gained the ability to decipher any sound coming from her older brother, and the snicker he just gave is clearly one of pure mockery. Setting down her knife, just in case, she turns on her heels to face him and leans her weight against the kitchen counter.

“Why are you here?” she asks, arms crossed over her chest.

He swishes two empty bottles in front of her face. “We’re running out of wine.”

“There are bottles in the garage sweetie,” their mother states.

“ ‘kay mama.”

As she places the last toast on her perfectly arranged plate, the matriarch looks between her children before leaving the kitchen with no more remark or demand. Her absence of curiosity about the mysterious suitor in Carlotta’s life, knowing her mother’s tendency for intrusive questions, makes the young woman suspect she might have already guessed who it could be…

“Like a Queen?”

Her brother’s annoying voice pulls her from her introspection. She carefully nods.

“Why did you not tell mama the whole quote then?” Valentin quips, knowing his sister well enough to know she understood the reference. 

“What quote?”

“The _FRIENDS’_ quote. The _‘he treats me like a Queen, except at night when he treats me like the naughty girl I am_ –’”

“Shut up Valentin!” she snarls as she straightens up, hands on her hips.

Unable to stop himself, the older sibling laughs, delighted to watch a rosy blush creep up his sister’s cheeks, and he sticks his tongue between his teeth. Carlotta bits the inside of her cheek to keep herself from responding. She points at the garage’s door.

“Be useful for once and bring some wine!”

* * *

**_31 december 2025,  
Berlin_ **

-

Someone took down all the Christmas decorations before New Years Eve.

It kind of makes the place just a little bit sadder, even with the many people and the balloons and the Champagne and the music… In comparaison, her shared-flat looks like _the Mall of Berlin_ high on ecstasy: tinsels with glittering decorations, and a Christmas tree standing still. Her parents had always left the decorations up until at least January 2nd, and the lights became closely intertwined with the joy of ringing in the new year. 

But it doesn’t matter now. Carlotta feels tipsy, warm, high on victory (her first semester’s grades being excellent so far), life, the atmosphere, and maybe on the Champagne she’s been drinking. She’s chatting with her host –a friend of Max she met a couple of times, working as machinist on movies– about the last series they enjoyed on Netflix, and she is suddenly laughing, not really knowing why. _Oops, I’m drunk,_ she thinks. After two weeks of filming for her tv-movie (not done yet) and the absence of Max, this party is the perfect outlet. 

“Excuse me a moment,” the young actress says and walks back into the party. 

It’s nearly midnight now and Carlotta looks around, seeking the one thing that will perfect the moment. The whole crowd seems to glow under the lights and she fears briefly that she won’t be able to spot Max in time. The fear is forgotten in the next moment when she catches sight of a familiar tuft of dark blonde hair, opening a window to let some fresh air come in. She smiles and moves towards him. 

Steps covered by music, she hugs him from behind, her voice muffled by his back.

“What did you just say?” Max laughs and whirls around to look at her, arms slung loosely around each other.

“I said ‘I can’t wait to kiss you’.”

“We must remain discreet you know?” he winks, knowing her intentions.

She shrugs and gets up on her tiptoes. “I know but, it will be our first kiss in 2026. And, if we think about it, it will be the third year during which we kissed.”

Max curls up an eyebrow, staring at her. Apparently, something is missing and whatever Carlotta is alluding to, he is not picking up.“The… third year?”

“Don’t you dare say you forgot our first kiss.”

 _Oh, that._ He remembers every detail: his dressing room; a promise to fulfil; the blue jacket she returned; her shoulder-length hair; her strawberry lipstick; the first time he heard her gasp… “How could I forget?” Max teases, his arms tightening around her waist to lift her just slightly off the ground and hers wrapping around his neck. “You almost blackmailed me!”

She smirks, ears and cheeks rosy. “Poor baby…”

 _“15 seconds guys!”_ someone shouts behind them and the lights are suddenly shut. 

Back on the floor, Carlotta links their fingers and the couple quickly makes its way to the window. The apartment, despite being small, is in the center of Berlin, offering an ideal perspective over the roofs of the capital to observe the _Brandenburg Gate_ and its coming fireworks. 

_“…8, 7, 6…”_

The countdown grows closer and closer, with every glass poured and every laugh shrieking. 

_“…5, 4, 3…”_

Carlotta leans against Max’s chest, arms around his hips, and he settles his chin on the top of her head.

_“…2, 1, Frohes Neues Jahr!”_

Far, far in the sky, the first of the fireworks comes to life, drowning out the noise of the party with its powerful booms and filling the night sky with bright colors.

Maybe it is the alcohol, or the warmth of Max’s body combined with the people around them, but Carlotta can’t take her eyes off the sparks in the sky, mesmerized. She loves fireworks: the vivid colors, the sound penetrating the air, an intruder in the peaceful bliss of the night, beauty and force united… 

Deep into each other’s personal space, they observe the show for long minutes, until it slowly reaches a climax above their heads. And then Max leans forward, lips brushing her temple. _“Frohes Neues Jahr_ Carl.” 

_“Frohes Neues Jahr_ Max,” the young woman echoes as she looks up at her man now that the fireworks have ended. Carlotta’s mouth finds his quickly, but he’s the one whose hands press her closer to deepen the kiss. Everybody around them is drinking or kissing –no one would bat an eye at them snogging as well.

He hums in her mouth, savoring the spicy taste of Champagne on the tip of her tongue, along with this unique taste of her’s. Kissing her carries a flavor of familiarity, but the freshness, the frenzy of it all is still there, and he wonders if he will ever get tired of it someday… An unexpected move from Carlotta makes her body arch against his front, and she nips at Max’s bottom lip as if he is something to be savored.

No. He will never get tired of it.

They pull apart.

“That was the best kiss I’ve had all year,” she jokes and smiles wide when he nods approvingly. 

One of her hands comes up to rest on his high cheekbone, the other going to play with the small tufts of blonde hair at the nape of his neck. The music is back on and she has to speak louder than she wants to. “Are you happy?”

Another nod. “Very happy.”

“Happier than last year?” she asks again, as if uncertain about his words.

He smirks. “Happier each new second.”

The thought makes her heart race faster. Call her arrogant or extravagant or romantic, but, this is what she expects and hopes for, this is what a good relationship is supposed to be in her opinion: something that makes you happy and even happier, by all means. And if it doesn’t… then _Auf Wiedersehen!_ Maybe she is naive?

“Great,” Carlotta murmurs back and kisses him once more.

* * *

**_28 January 2026,  
Berlin_ **

-

“What do you want for your birthday? It’s coming up,” asks Max even though he’s well aware of the answer he’ll get. 

“Oh, nothing.” 

If she’s honest, there is one thing Carlotta wants: more free time. During the last weeks, her schedule, combining her college classes with the tv-movie she is still working on and the play she is supposed to stage at the end of the year, is enough to keep anyone busy. In the beginning, the coexistence of her own crazy schedule and Max’s has been complicated, and they’ve seen each other barely once by week -twice if they were lucky. But none of them complained. 

There is something nice about the pressure of performing and running out of time, something nice about the feel of being wanted. And it makes the time spent together more precious, more secret.

Carlotta peers over her phone and finds Max’s eyes narrowing. A smile curls up her lips. 

“I’m not a child anymore. No need for presents… You don’t have to get me anything.”

“Of course I do,” he protests. “But I don’t know what to get yet –so give me some ideas.”

“Nothing, really,” she states once more, and her gaze falls back on the blue screen. “My tiny student room can take no more.”

Almost like a five years old, he crosses his arms, an exaggerated pout on his lips, and leans back into his chair. “Too bad! I’m going to get you something whether you like it or not.”

Over their meals, Carlotta looks up once more before turning off her phone, and props her elbow on the table to offer a hand in rapprochement. Eventually, Max surrenders, and their fingers meet in the no-man’s land between her plate and his fork. “If you still really want to do something for me, maybe we could, I don’t know, do something together?”

The prospect lights something in his eyes.

“I don’t know… Let’s go take a walk in a park?” she continues with a shrug, _“Dahme-Heideseen Nature_ Park?”

“A picnic in February? And we went there for a trek before I left in December if I remember correctly,” he cringes, fingertips running over the thin skin around her wrist. “No, no. A special place for a special event.”

“A special place?” Dozens of destinations cross her imagination like a lightning bolt, places or cities she dreams to go one day. Paris, Venice, Bali, Tokyo— and the prospect of exploring these places with Max makes her heart go a little crazy. _But no._ Something simple. Her immoderate ideas subdue and, suddenly, a much more reasonable one comes to her mind. 

“I love ice-skating and skiing,” Carlotta says with a nostalgic smile. “With my parents, we often went to _Ludwigsstadt_ ski resort, in Bayern, with nice skating rinks and slopes. But, for two or three years now, I couldn’t go with them. Not enough time,” a tinge of regret sounds in her voice and she shrugs. “Anyway, I think it’s too late for a February booking, but maybe March? Not sure there will be snow tho…”

“Later then?” he assumes, his fingers still around hers.

Max is not a bad skier, nor a fantastic one. He remembers some huge bruises coloring his back and thighs after his first attempt with a snowboard and decided to stick to the basic skis. He and Carlotta will spend all day on the slopes and all night in a cabin with a hot tub, and enjoy each other’s company as they let the water relax their sore muscles. _Oh, this could be nice._ “Or maybe next year?”

“Next year?” she retorts, almost surprised. “You are… a true optimist.”

Again, Max amazes her by his certitudes when it comes to them; likely due to his previous experiences. The young woman smiles softly and nods.

“So it’s settled,” he concludes proudly, taking a sip of white wine. “But look, I want to offer you something as well, something small, so you will have a present to open the big day before we go to _Ludwigsstadt._ ”

Carlotta places her index finger on her chin to indicate that she’s thinking.

“Hm, the pink Barbie Jeep would be nice.”

Max laughs. 

-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as alway, leave a small comment or kudos please ♥  
> i hope you enjoyed because... next time... ah!  
> (and for the first time, i am starting to see the finish line of my fic. i think the whole work will be a 24 parts-long fic :D)


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you know the drill: RPF is not your cup of tea, then leave please :) but if you like, please comment or kudo  
> -  
> AND THANK FOR MY GREAT BETA ♥♥♥♥

_**late february 2026,** _  
_**Berlin** _

-

The decorations are modest and Max is thankful for remembering to text Aylin to buy a few more balloons to embellish his place –during the last week, his main concern has been to find the tastiest Strawberry Cake in Berlin (which he eventually did in a French bakery). Everything is ready, two minutes before she arrives, and just as he puts the last bit of adhesive tape around his present, her heels are clicking at the door.

_“Alles Gute zum Geburtstag!”_ they all say at once when Carlotta enters, and her perfectly shocked face is Oscar-worthy.

Immediately, the dozens of friends begin throwing themselves at Carlotta with hugs, and she just laughs. “Wow, you guys have done a great job!” she says as she looks around the living room of Max’s flat before locking eyes with him over a few heads.

Her best friend is there; some high school and college friends; her roommates; Kriss… a part of the small band that knows about Max & Carlotta . 

The party goes well, beer and strawberries matching perfectly, and despite the different origins of the people composing the pack, they all easily chat and laugh together. 

In the middle of this pleasant picture, Max is leaning against the couch and observes Carlotta as she chats with Émilie, her french roommate, the beer bottle she is holding in front of her lips. Her hands are waving around as she talks animatedly about the project she just ended and which will be aired in summer, her face bursting with life and joy, and she is absolutely beautiful, the way she always is when explaining something that enthrals her –almost to the point of distraction. Like full of sunlight. 

The conversation ends when she realizes she’s running out of beer and moves to grab a second one. Taking this opportunity to have her to himself for just a few seconds, Max goes to meet her by the window leading to his kitchen. 

_“Hallo,”_ Carlotta smiles at his presence before giving him a peck, thumbing the curve of his cheek as she does so. At any other time, Max would have kissed her back with more fervor, to truly mark the day –but maybe later. “Thanks,” she says, knowing perfectly well the whole thing was his idea, “and for the present as well.”

“You like the color, I hope?”

“I do.”

Minutes ago, he gave her a beautiful, silky, red scarf, neatly packed in its box, and Carlotta suspected that he’d received help from Kriss for the color. When she unfolded it to admire its pattern, an envelope fell into her lap, the logo of the _Ludwigsstadt_ ski resort in a corner, and she smiled at the sight. She decided to open it later.

“But, was such a large cake necessary?” 

Max gives her a huge mischievous grin. “Yes it was.”

She gently hits him in the arm. “So, did you process your nomination?”

“I did.” Of course his nomination for a LOLA statuette is the event of a lifetime, and he celebrated properly with Champagne and his kin. However, past the excitement, he examined with attention the concurrence for the best supporting actor… and his chances are dim, not to say zero. “But whatever–” 

“You deserve it!” Carlotta says with enthusiasm. "And the Premiere of your new series is coming as well."

“Yeah, no, it’s not important… today is your day!”

He pulls her closer to kiss the top of her head and she wraps an arm around his waist.

There is this usual rush of warmth when Max touches her, and he finds himself unable to focus on anything but the thought of her. Carlotta is gorgeous, witty, and sweet, with a devilish smile and a bubbly laugh. Smart and incredibly knowledgeable about the actual theatrical scene of Berlin thanks to College and the company she hangs out with, she’s always aware about the theatre piece currently dominating the sales, or who is playing what, or what play is coming out next… 

Staring down at her, he loves the look in her eyes when she has an idea, loves how worked up she gets when she’s determined to do something, loves how she gets excited when citing a writer’s work by heart. He just loves everything that comes with who she is. He just loves her.

“Carl’…”

The actress peers up at her (nick)name.

“I love you,” he breathes, soft and sudden. 

Carlotta stops short at the words, blinking over the bottle in her hand, and her smile fades. 

Max freezes on the spot. 

_oh Scheiße!_

Immediately, an alarm rings in his head and his internal narration transforms into a manic refrain of ‘OH NO OH NO N O NO WHAT DID YOU DO YOU IDIO T T TAKE IT BAC K!!’.

It’s been five long seconds now without a reaction from Carlotta –except her eyes widening inexorably– and he can already feel that moment imploding in and ruining everything. 

When he finally decides to open his mouth, Carlotta’s face melts into a quick smile –but a nervous, forced one in comparison to the usual bright smile she gives Max, and his panic doesn’t vanish a bit.

“I–” the young woman starts and lets out a breath that she didn’t know she was holding, “I… have to go to the bathroom. Just –two minutes.”

“Carlotta?”

“It’s _fine,_ ” she says and turns on her heels. Her eyes scan the place, and once they find Aylin, Carlotta speedily moves to join her and grabs her best friend’s hand without regard for the person she is talking to. In a blink, both women make their way out of the living room and disappear in the corridor.

* * *

The two minutes turn into fifteen, and after ten months of perfect self-discipline, Max has never wanted a bottle of vodka and a cigarette more than now! Maybe all of his insides are attempting a _coup d'état_ in that very moment? To ruin his brain and so-called intelligence that led into this situation, so he wouldn’t have to deal with whatever storm is coming?

He loves her. 

He wants her. He is living in a daydream thanks to her, and he has just been so happy since eight months he could skip. And now… he finds himself impatient and unable to handle the peering eyes of their friends and their curious _‘where is Carlotta?’_ s . 

So, he ended up here, sitting in the stairwell that leads to the landing of his apartment. Out of habit, he fishes out the lighter she offered him almost two years ago and starts to toy with it. Since he quit smoking, it became rather useless and ridiculous to carry, but Max likes to keep it around, likes to feel its weight in his pocket. As a presence. A token of his triumph against cigarettes. A memento of her.

_It’s fine,_ she said after his confession. Well, that’s a relief, isn’t it?

The door opens behind him, and he is ready to bark to leave him _the fuck_ alone but there is a familiar, sweet, enticing perfume. _Gardenias._

When she sits down by his side, their shoulders brush and Max’s eyes never leave her. 

“Hey,” Carlotta says, cautious.

“Hey,” he repeats, and there is a pause, until: “I think… you and I, we’re cursed when it comes to the combo of your birthday plus my apartment.” 

The allusion to that detestable night, precisely one year ago doesn’t escape the young woman, and she smiles at the irony of fate. Carlotta shuffles a little closer, her knee bumping his, gently, and her lips part: 

“Max…” she starts, and he hates the inflections in her tone. “You’re kind, funny, smart, talented, passionate,” the enumeration goes on, her delicate fingers counting against the wood of the stairs, “stunning, good in bed – _I mean,_ I have no point of comparison but, everything we do is great!” 

He snorts at that. “Thank you… I guess.” 

She chuckles and looks up into him, deeply, as though willing her words to sink in through her gaze, and Max finds himself memorizing every detail of her –as if he was watching her for the first time. The way her locks fall around her face, the wrinkle of her nose when she frowns, the light in her eyes when she talks, every facet of her being and her face he can glimpse; Max wants it memorized just in case –just because of the dread bubbling up in his chest. 

“Maybe…, maybe it’s wrong?” Carlotta adds.

He frowns, perplexed. “What’s wrong?”

“Us.” 

_oh no. please Carl’! no_

“I mean, maybe we’re not on the same page? Maybe, because of my lack of experience, I’m unable to understand a true relationship?” she carries on, hazel eyes anchored into a sea of deep blue. “Maybe I’m too young, not mature enough to know how… how to deal with your confessions, because before you, I’ve nev–” 

“Is it because of what I said earlier?” he sputters, hesitant, “if that’s the case let’s forget about it! I’m sorry.”

“No! No, it wouldn’t be right for you!” her voice is high now, unsteady and her hands tap nervously on her lap. “It is not something you should take back or be sorry about, Max! On the contrary. Love is something that you should scream like an idiot at the top of your lungs, free of whatever stupid secrecy hiding it… Secrecy that I –I was the one to ask when we started to be a couple.” 

“Wait, if you are suggesting that I am restrained or kept down or limited in our relationship… I’m not!”

“But what if I can’t give you back what you want. Or worse: what you deserve!” Carlotta retorts hastily, closing her eyes as she rocks forward to bury her face in her hands. And then, she rises up all of a sudden from the stairs, standing high and straight as if some implicit revelation has happened. “Oh _fuck_ … I’m like Audrey Hepburn at _Breakfast at Tiffany’s!”_

Max looks up, clearly not getting the reference, and stands up to join her side. “What?”

“You know, when Paul at the library confesses that he loves her, and she just looks at him owlishly and says nothing and then, then, then…” she blurts out, her whole face growing hot, “… then she disappears in the ladies room! And later, she takes the cab and tries to run away from him and–”

“Carl’, Carlotta,” he says with that cool and soothing voice he only uses for her. With one large hand, he cradles the back of her head to make her look at him, the other resting on her shoulder. “’you okay?”

“Yeah. No. I don’t know,” she says quickly, looking away for a beat before returning his gaze, “I’m just realizing things… An epiphany. A terrible epiphany.”

Max swallows, his mouth impossibly dry, and his hands come up to cup Carlotta’s face, thumbs stroking across her cheeks. He can feel her heartbeat beneath his fingertips.

“Carl’, what is truly important is what we are feeling –what _you_ are feeling,” he manages to say despite the constriction of his throat, “Just, answer this, please: are you happy with me?”

Carlotta grins. “Yes. I am. Very much.”

“And I’m happy too! I’m happy with you. The rest is irrelevant,” he whispers, low and steady, for this is the only truth that matters. “We are happy together.”

A nod makes her golden curls hop. “We are.” 

_yes,_ Max thinks as he holds her face in his two hands, he loves her _so_ much.

“Look, I said what I said because this is what I feel and I didn’t want to keep it from you any longer. And, believe me, I said it without conditions or expecting a response.” The honesty which colours his voice betrays the fear this conversation is causing him to feel… he has to lay his heart on the table. “I don’t want you to feel pressure to do anything. Carl’, I didn’t say it for the prospect of hearing an echo from you.”

Carlotta’s fingers are curling around his wrists, and she remains silent. Too silent.

“But, be honest Max–” 

He nods at her request and her eyes are glassy.

“–you would have been happier if I had said it back, wouldn’t you?”

_no,_ is the straightaway answer he wants to give, wants to scream, and his mouth parts, but his voice just doesn’t cooperate. Because if Max is honest… it's true, he dreams to hear these three words falling from her lips. 

Carlotta’s smile fades just a fraction, a look of misery flashing on her face. With her fingers around his wrists, she gently pushes his hands away from her cheeks.

Breath is knocked out of Max, and he struggles to regain his composure as his mind turns the last minute over. 

“I have to go now… I already said bye to the others,” she whispers to him with a voice wet and thick with unshed tears, “I’ve early classes tomorrow.”

_she is leaving, she is running away, you ruined everything, you scared h_ — but the train of Max's thoughts suddenly comes to a halt. He stumbles backwards and almost falls back into the staircase as Carlotta throws herself at him, wrapping him up tightly in a hug. He doesn’t know what to do other than hug her back just as tightly, trying to memorize the feel of her in his arms, the scent of her skin, the way she squeezes just a tad tighter right before she steps away. 

Max desperately wants to continue to hold her against him; who knows when he will do it again? Reason wins over want, however, and he finds himself helping her to put her coat on. And there is nothing he can do but watch her walking down the stairs, watch her leaving him.

“Carl’,” his voice cracks with agony, and she turns to look up, “we are not wrong.”

Carlotta smiles so softly, it makes him ache.

“I know Max…” There are hidden tears in her words. “I will call you. Promise.”

When she disappears down into the stairwell, he blinks non-stop, trying desperately to wrap his head around what is happening. 

* * *

Max doesn’t know how long he stayed there, alone, sitting, watching the empty stairwell where she was standing a few minutes –or hours? –or days? ago, breathing in the faint remains of her perfume… 

_“Scheiße,”_ Max groans through his teeth, pressing his hands onto his face. He ruined everything, planting the seed into Carlotta’s brain that he is the one who cares the most, who relies more than her, who needs her more… No one wants to be into a relationship that feels unequal or with too much pressure, and Max all but pushed her towards that conclusion by confessing his love first, without waiting for her.

_“Scheiße. Scheiße!”_ he repeats once more. 

No wonder she ran away.

“She will come back.”

He jumps slightly at the voice behind him and frowns. The thought of being observed or dissected in such a moment of affliction makes his stomach turn.

“I don’t think so,” Max sighs without turning to face Aylin. “She took her coat and has classes tomorrow. And she already said bye.” 

“I’m not talking about the party.”

This time, he looks up at Carlotta’s best friend and all he can think about is the conversation the two women held in the bathroom. 

“She is stubborn,” Aylin states, leaning against the door. “When she is like that, she needs to be alone for a little while.”

Max runs a hand over his hair. “I know.”

He knows a lot about Carlotta. And he’d never seen her like that before, and never wants to again. The look of pure sadness in her eyes as she presumes (so wrongly!) that she’s not enough for him. The look of complete and utter defeat as he is unable to answer her worries about his happiness. And now, _now_ she is the one tormenting herself because he was unable to keep his fucking mouth shut.

His mind made up, he clambers to his feet, and begins to walk towards his flat’s door. Aylin smiles at him, a smile with this kind of pity you give to the one kid in preschool that didn’t receive any Valentine’s Day card. It makes his skin crawl. 

“She cares so much for you. Give her time,” Aylin says, genuine concern in her words.

"Of course." Max nods, starting to feel a little like a small child being instructed by his mother, and takes a deep breath to regain control over whatever catastrophic scenario crossing his mind.

Marching to the door, he grabs the handle to open it. “I will wait for her.”

-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> they were just too happy...  
> so, just a little of angst :)


End file.
